<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>i think i brought the war with me (predestination) by lifeitself</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23095138">i think i brought the war with me (predestination)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifeitself/pseuds/lifeitself'>lifeitself</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Doctor Who, Doctor Who &amp; Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Gen, Manipulation, Post-Episode: s12e10 The Timeless Children, Pre-Episode: s12e10 The Timeless Children, Resolution, but I can't remember it so it doesn't apply, but its poetic so its fine., double crossing., episode restructuring, in which I say there's probably canon that applies here..., in which the master goes a little nuts, no TRIPLE crossing, the master's just an overachiever like that, this is a story in which I definitely do not project any personal issues ... hahahaha... unless???</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 12:41:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>28,464</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23095138</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifeitself/pseuds/lifeitself</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The problem with not sharing anything about yourself is that you can be made out to be anyone.<br/>The Master knows this, so in a moment of spite and careful planning he takes the Doctor's companions away from her and shows them everything he possibly can to un-sew the seams the Doctor has so carefully sewn together and hidden from her friends. He tells them about Gallifrey, about war, about the timeless children. He destroys the Doctor relationally and personally. He paints himself as a survivor, paints the Doctor as a killer.<br/>Or; this is the story in which he tries.<br/>In which the Master goes about unravelling the Doctor differently. There are multiple ways to destroy someone completely.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>68</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>i think i brought the war with me (predestination)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I THINK I BROUGHT THE WAR WITH ME</p><p>(PREDESTINATION)</p>
<hr/><p>Gallifrey is burning again. She opens the door and feels physically <em>sick. </em></p><p>But she is not angry. She is exhausted. Grief gnaws through her sinews and bones like a parasite, cutting her open into sharp, sharp pieces. For several long hours, she sits on the console floor, eyes distant and unseeing. And for several long hours, she does not feel anything at all besides the emptiness of desperate pain and grief.</p><p>It takes her three months before she goes to pick up the fam again. It is enough time to weld the pieces of herself back together, sew herself up at the seams enough to pass as a whole. Enough, at least, to smile at them and not have a mouthful of shards in place of teeth. They ask her where she is from. She does not think of burnished golden fields thrown into hot relief against pillars of fire. She thinks of her childhood, grips it with both hands and pulls it around herself like a shield as she tells them details of things that mean nothing to them. Names and planets and constellations sparkle through the air like fool’s gold. They mean nothing. They are empty words in empty promises. Her smile is shallow. Her hearts feel so heavy that they threaten to drag her through the ground any moment, down into the dirt to be swallowed alive by the earth. </p><p>She takes them to impossible places, and the places spit in her face and grind their heels into her grief with iron spurs. She is moody. She is tired. She is teetering on the edge of evaporation, fuelled only by trouble. She knows she is trying to outrun her problems, feels it in the way the Tardis groans in protest underneath her fingertips as she wheels them across the galaxy from wonder to wonder without a moment’s rest. But no place is beautiful enough to tamp the shredding of her very ribs as her two hearts beat out a too-familiar one-two-three-four against them.</p>
<hr/><p>It starts on a dead planet in the galaxy of Caracassus. They have run to the Tardis. Yaz’s eyes are alight with glee as she wheels herself around the console. Ryan is grinning as he closes the door behind the four of them. Graham is shaking his head as he plops down onto a chair. They are so close to being untainted by her. The Doctor could make them forget about her in a moment, leave them forever, right now, and she could spend the rest of her life trying to forget them. She could put them back into their terribly small, terrible important lives, and pretend that she hadn’t put them all in danger just by knowing them, that she hadn’t been careless enough to forget the shadow that followed her every step like a planet locked in her orbit. </p><p>She does not know what inspires her to open her mouth. Later, she will wish she never had. It is the beginning of the end, fate decided in a million small choices, a game of cosmic dominos. She has shown the universe her hand of cards. They are all bad. </p><p>“You deserve an explanation,” she starts, and the console room quietens. Something almost visible settles around their shoulders. She braces her own. </p><p>“I haven’t been- honest with you.” She chooses her words carefully, the truth coming out picked more raw than the little white lies. Their eyes watch hers solemnly, dark and careful. </p><p>“It’s not like we haven’t noticed something’s a little off,” Graham starts. “Something’s botherin’ you, Doc, and we really do care to help, if you’ll let us.” </p><p>“Gallifrey has burned,” she continues, trying not to think anything at all. She fixes her eyes on a point behind Yaz’s head. “I can’t take you there, because it’s rubble. My entire planet is in ruins. And I lied to you, because not sayin’ it aloud made it feel less real. Like I could close my eyes-” she cuts off, swallowing past the lump in her throat, “and still imagine it, whole. Red fields lit aflame by the twin suns, and not by fire.” </p><p>She does not look into their eyes. She does not want their pity. </p><p>“The Master burned it.” she says, and she feels her nails pressing crescent moons into the soft flesh of her palms. “It’s gone.” There is ash in her mouth. She can smell the burning fields, and hear the cries of a child who has lost their mother in flames.</p><p>“Oh my god,” she hears a whisper. It sounds like Ryan. She lowers her eyes for a moment. </p><p>“But-” Yaz says. “Why would he burn it?”</p><p>“I don’t know,” she replies. It is too quiet. Yaz does not hear her. She repeats herself, louder. “I don’t know.” </p><p>The console room is quiet. Graham rounds the room to her, and his hand finds hers. He squeezes.</p><p>“We’ll get through this together, Doc. You aren’t alone.” </p><p>She is desperately alone. </p><p>The next several days are quiet. Her three friends walk around her on invisible eggshells, each glance sent in her direction colored with soft pity. She pastes on her best smile under dark, sallow eyes. She takes them to the atmosphere on Carcillius where the pink of the clouds reflects the glow of the moon into millions of rainbows. She takes them to tea with royalty from thousands of years in the future. She helps them save a villaging town from civil war. A sentient planet eats them alive and spits them out two hours later in the constellation Harbege, and two lightyears to the left a large octopus tries to make the Tardis its nest. </p>
<hr/><p>It ends on the slopes of Kaelfrigia, warm and sunny. It is hilly and green and soft and endless, and they are wading through stalks of grass that come up to their waists. The wind is soft and gentle, whispering about her hair and singing sweet nothings through the endless, sun-soaked field. </p><p>They reach the peak of the hill, a gorgeous overlook, and look out across the wide expanse of silver towers and blue lakes. The city is beautiful, undisturbed. The wind smells like dust after rain and cotton in sunshine. </p><p>Yasmin sets herself down on the grass languidly, a warm grin overtaking her face as she squints against the sun and peers into the gorgeous blue sky. </p><p>“I could stand here forever,” Ryan says, finally. His hands are deep in his pockets, his expression easy and relaxed against the sunshine. </p><p>Graham sighs loudly, and his posture is content and loose as he settles himself down next to Yasmin, pulling a roast beef sandwich wrapped in plastic out of his pocket and opening it with an air of great leisure. </p><p>“Why don’t you sit down with us, Doc?” he asks, peering up at her and waving his roast beef sandwich in a come-hither sort of gesture. </p><p>With a grin, the Doctor plops down next to him. “Love a good roast beef sandwich,” she enthuses, shaking her head when Graham tilts his head and moves to share it with her. “Well, that is to say, I did- not sure now. Tastebuds change with the body. It’s a right doozy, really.”</p><p>“Come off it, you really were a man?” asks Ryan, settling himself down next to Graham and leaning back on his elbows. </p><p>“A proper man,” the Doctor confirms. “Several of them, really.” </p><p>“Yeah,” Graham enthuses, nodding at Yaz and Ryan. “Back before the whole plane incident, O was tellin’ me all about how it wasn’t just a load of crock. Really fascinating, actually. He had a whole shelf on the Doc, research and what not.” </p><p>“You alright, Doctor?” asked Yasmin. “You look a bit sick.” </p><p>She flashes them a smile, a shaky sort of thing. “I’m fine,” she responds, and definitely doesn’t think about the Master collecting whole shelves of information on her. Ryan raises his eyebrows but doesn’t meet her eyes to question her, face still tilted towards the sunshine. </p><p>“O was a good man,” Graham murmured gently. “Didn’t deserve what he got.”</p><p>Ryan opened his mouth to say something, but Yaz elbowed him in the side and beat him to it. “If this is about your home, Doctor- is there anything you can do? You have a time machine, don’t you? Can’t you go back and stop him?”</p><p>“Can’t muck up established events,” the Doctor replied. “Also, the planet of Gallifrey is on the receiving end of rather a lot of time warping events, and I’d like to avoid the collapse of time and space, if I can.”</p><p>She let her face sink into her hands, and her friends politely didn’t notice that her hands were shaking. </p><p>There was a long silence, the rush of wind between grass the only sound between them. </p><p>“I’m just going to grab something from the Tardis,” the Doctor declared suddenly, pushing herself to her feet in one smooth motion. “No need to come along, I’ll only be a moment, and I’ll be right back. Does anyone need anything while I’m there?”</p><p>All three of her friends had expressions on their faces which made it clear that her escape was not at all subtle, but she steeled her jaw and gave them a brilliant smile. <em>Make it real. Make it believable.</em></p><p>“You sure you don’t want the company?” asked Graham, moving to get to his feet. “I could use a cuppa, and this is perfect weather for tea and a view, don’t you think?”</p><p>“Oh, no,” the Doctor reassured brightly. “I’ll bring all the fixings for tea back with me- I’ve got the most amazing kettle from a planet a few galaxies to the right. Super small, heats things up in no time at all. You’ll love it. I’ll grab it while I grab my- project. Something to fiddle with while you lot relax, yeah?”</p><p>Ryan’s sharp eyes were following her closely, and she looked away from the clever understanding that she saw in them.</p><p>“Sure thing, Doc,” Graham finally said, settling back down into the warm grass. “Trust me, I won’t move a muscle, not for the world. This right here is where I’d like to be for the next decade or so, actually. If you don’t mind.” </p><p>“Be right back, yeah?” asked Yasmin, reaching out to give the Doctor’s hand a quick squeeze. “I’ll be waiting for you. Tardis is only a few meters away, shouldn’t take too long. Have stories about my mum I’m dying to tell you. Talking with you is really better than havin’ the internet, honestly.”</p><p>“I’ll be right back,” the Doctor agreed, reaching with her other hand to pat the top of Yasmin’s. Yasmin nodded with a soft smile, letting go and watching as the Doctor retreated to the Tardis, lanky figure quickly disappearing behind the tall grass. </p><p>“Something’s definitely more wrong then she’s let on,” Graham finally muttered after another minute had passed. He took a large and contemplative bite out of his sandwich. </p><p>“Yeah, you don’t say,” Ryan shot back. </p><p>“Do you think she’ll be alright?” asked Yasmin worriedly, looking back at the tall grass where the Doctor had just retreated. “We’ve never seen her like this, not the whole time she’s travelled with us. Sure, there have been moments where she’s a bit moody, but never this much.” </p><p>“I don’t know why she won’t just tell us, if it’s botherin’ her so much,” Ryan sighed. “We’re her friends, but she doesn’t actually tell us much of anything. Does my head in, really. Does she not trust us or something? I dunno.” </p><p>“Well whatever it is is obviously hurting her, so let’s try and be a bit diplomatic,” Graham tried. “Look, you know how we reacted when we saw the Earth gone and destroyed. We also know she’s properly alien- no telling how old she is or how important her home is to her. If I were her, I’d be in a right state too. We all would, you know it.” </p><p>“I suppose you’re right,” Ryan conceded. “But we’re still her friends. Friends tell eachother stuff. Don’t they, Yaz.” </p><p>Yasmin started from where she had been staring into the grass. “Yeah,” she acquiesced, but it was soft and concerned. “I suppose they might.”</p>
<hr/><p>The Tardis does not look at the Doctor with soft, careful eyes. The Tardis does not pity her. </p><p>The Doctor falls against the console with a dull thud, and her eyes flutter closed for a moment. Just a moment- her fam is waiting for her. Her exit had not been careful enough. She may as well have taken a sign and painted ‘The Doctor is feeling unwell and cannot see you now’ in chunky neon letters. It felt as if she were being unglued, somewhat, unsewn. It is hard to think of herself as complete when aspects of her past continue to claw their way into her new life. And it’s not as if she wants to avoid her past; she has always been so careful to store it up and keep it with her, but there is something about the lingering of the Master that unravels her, unnerves her now that he is beyond her reach. He has always been her wild card - her opposite, the other side of her coin. She has always <em>known</em> him, always felt that if their circumstances were different, if she had stared into the untempered schism and seen something slightly different-</p><p>His motivations were uncanny and non-linear, but he never acted completely without cause. And now he had razed their home to the ground, and he had done it with clear intent and malevolent anger in his eyes. He had believed the burning of Gallifrey to be justice.</p><p>Burning Gallifrey was not something that the Doctor could take lightly. She was tired of watching her city burn, of course, but more than that, she knew intimately what it was to take the fate of her people into her own hands. Thousands of years had passed for her with the murder of her entire race on her conscious. She knew too well how heavy that choice had weighed on her shoulders, how deeply the death toll had ground itself into the back of her skull with sharp, clever knives, how empty the entirety of her head had been for so, so long. </p><p>Gallifrey did not function like the rest of the universe. Gallifrey had been destroyed by her, ravaged, and no matter what she had done later to correct it, her own time stream paints her as someone who had taken the lives of her people, no matter what the reason or justification. </p><p>It was sobering to think that the Master would burn Gallifrey all over again. It made her wonder if she really wanted to know why. If the information revealed to the Master had been so powerfully moving that it drove him to destroy the whole of Gallifrey, there was a part of her that wanted to stay far, far away from something that might hurt her like that ever again. </p><p>Truly, she wants to do what she has always wanted to do, ever since her own time standing before the untempered schism- she wants to run. She wants to run and run and run and never have to think about the fact that Gallifrey had burned at both of their hands, that the Time Lords had been reduced to myth and legend twice over because of their separate motivations. She does not want to ever think of Gallifrey again as something that is destroyable, she wants to put it out of her mind as a planet at all; she wants to keep it as a memory in her head, time-locked in her skull. If it cannot be either saved or destroyed, touched or changed, perhaps then it will not be able to hurt her anymore. </p><p>And yet she had seen it, razed to the ground yet again, and the complicated swirl of emotions concerning her planet had swelled to a peak in her once again, digging themselves into her heels. So she does what she has always done. She runs and runs and runs and runs and-</p><p>The Doctor pulls her palms back from the side of the console abruptly, staring at her hands for a long moment. Tea. Tea was good. She would go back out and she would sit with tea, and if her friends had questions she would smile at them with her mouth closed and tell them that her life is hard sometimes, but that the bad things don’t make the good things less important or worthy of her time. She would tell them that she’s healing by running, by running and helping and travelling, and she would say it with such determination that maybe, if she were very lucky, it would become true. Maybe she could fool herself into believing that she could be content with her situation simply by ignoring the discontentedness, as if her emotions were something that could cancel eachother out. </p><p>She looks away from her hands when they start to shake. This would not hurt her. This could not hurt her, not again, not a second time. She was <em>done </em> with the hurt that stemmed from the destruction of Gallifrey. She was beyond tired of it. She didn’t feel it anymore. <em>She doesn’t feel anything about it</em>, besides the very old grief and sadness that always linger with her. She wouldn’t allow anything more. </p><p>The tea set comes together quickly, and with a bracing breath the Doctor pulls her shoulders back, pushing the Tardis doors open with her feet and balancing the tray of snacks, puddings, and teas in her arms. A bracing cup of tea would make her feel better, and if she had learned anything in all her travels, tea always was better shared among friends. </p><p>She makes her way carefully through the long grass, the sky above her bright and cheery. She lets herself absorb the weather’s mood, lets the sun lift the edges of her spirit and the gentle breeze push back the few strands of hair stuck to her forehead. The universe is not always passively watching, and for once she was glad to hold tight to its gentle gestures with both hands. </p><p>With a grin, she pushes through the last of the grass and to the overlook where her friends had been sitting, only to come to a rocking halt, bouncing a bit on her heels as her brow furrows. </p><p>“Graham? Ryan? Yaz? You here?” </p><p>The grass is soft and green, and the sky just as blue and clear, but the cheery, happy feeling from earlier is suddenly stifled as if under a thick woolen blanket. Something has shifted. Something is wrong.</p><p>“You’re looking for your friends!” Comes the delighted voice. The far too familiar voice, an icepick hurling itself through her sternum. Her feet feel frozen to the ground. No, no, this couldn’t be happening, she had only left them alone for <em>five minutes,</em> and she had brought <em>tea</em>, for the sake of Rassilon- </p><p>She turns around slowly. The soft breeze picks up the edges of her hair and brushes them about her face. </p><p>The Master looks back at her from two meters away with delighted brown eyes. “<em>Fancy</em> seeing you here!” He thrusts his hands out in a grand, all encompassing gesture towards the overlook, before his face falls into something sarcastically contemplative. “Oh-wait- I had you traced down. My bad.” He laughs, and it is familiarly cruel. She knows that laugh like the back of her hand. She always has. “What brings you to this corner of the universe, then?” he asks, giving her jazz hands and a quirked eyebrow. “The scenery is- well. It’s good, I have to admit, but it doesn’t have that <em>pow,</em> that <em>oomf-</em> that I’ve so come to expect from you.” He shakes his head, clicking his tongue. “You’re slipping. Where’s the grandeur? Where’s the ‘here’s all of time and space and it’s all mine and you’re all my unwitting peons?’ scenery? Honestly.”</p><p>The Doctor feels a low growl grow in the back of her throat, and she bites it back harshly, striding towards him with long, determined steps. </p><p>“Oh, did I offend?” asks the Master, face a mockery of surprise and innocence as he half-raises his arms in sarcastic surrender. His eyes stare her down, eyes full of rage buried in a saccharinely beguiling face. “Didn’t mean to strike a nerve. Well. Did, actually, <em>very </em>much mean to strike a nerve. Several even, if I’m lucky.”
“Where are they,” she asks. It is flat. It is hard. She cannot do this with him. She is tired of this. She wants to rage at him, but all she feels is panic and fear, and she cannot let him see either of those, so she lets him see nothing. </p><p>“See, I knew you would ask that,” cajoled the Master, “which is, of course, why I’m not going to answer it. Ah ah ah,” he steps backwards as she steps forwards, and his eyes grow steely as a smile curves his lips. “We’ve been doing this dance for <em>eons,</em> Doctor. Do you really just think I’d just kill them? With no fanfare?” He is mocking her with the faux-horror in his voice. His eyes are sparkling. He is having fun. “Ta, you clearly don’t know me as well as you thought.” His facial expression shifts to something dangerous and deadly serious, and his voice drops to a baritone whisper. “Trust me, Doctor. I am <em>so </em>much more than you will <em>ever</em> know.” </p><p>She steps towards him again, and she can feel the edge of her mouth lift in a snarl. Their faces are inches away, and she can see the individual colors of his eyes as the emotions behind them snap and crackle and fizz at the speed of light. </p><p>“Tell me where my friends are. <em>They are not yours to play games with.</em>”</p><p>“Oh, aren’t they!” exclaims the Master, throwing his hands up in the air and erupting into horribly sharp laughter. “Not <em>mine</em> to play games with. That’s just an honor reserved for you, then? Messing with their heads is a Doctor-reserved pastime? Good to know.” He grins nastily at her. “Your playthings are fine. Will be fine. I wouldn’t dare lay a finger on a hair of their heads. I’m just- commandeering them for a while. See, Doctor, I’m on a quest to find out what, really, is so <em>special</em> about you, so I need to really get into the groove of Doctor-hood, and that involves having to tolerate some messy humans for a little while. Don’t worry though!” His eyes flash with amusement, his mouth quivering with silent laughter. “You’ll get them back, all in one piece. Pinky-promise. Don’t you trust me?”</p><p>She doesn’t even deign to give him a response to that. </p><p>“Where have you taken them. Where have you put them.” </p><p>“Oh, Doctor! Such good questions!” He claps his hands together delightedly. “But I’m afraid our time here is up- I am truly, deeply, <em>madly</em> sorry. I’ll see you around, darling. Ta for now.”</p><p>She reaches out to grab him, but her fingers slide through him like he is water. His eyes widen.</p><p>“Silly me, I always forget to mention when I’m projecting myself through space,” he tells her mournfully, dark amusement and hatred coloring his eyes. “It’s rude. I should do better. Allons-y, <em>Doctor</em>.”</p><p>He flickers out like a candle, and then there is complete and utter stillness. The tray of tea and snacks falls with a clatter to the ground, the kettle knocking onto its side and pouring a steady stream of hot water onto the custard creams. </p><p>There is a steadily rising ringing in her head, but it is not the sort of ringing caused by the companionship of her people. It is horror, swelling up in her lungs and head and chest so rapidly that it feels like she is drowning. It tastes like realization and bile in the back of her throat. It tastes like half-truths and dodged questions. It is the taste of recognizing that the Master has her friends, and that he is going to take everything they know about her and upend it, and she is going to be alone. Because her family is brilliant, utterly brilliant, and they are unerringly, perfectly human. And as much as they love her or trust her, they do not have the capacity to stand up to the psychological manipulation of a time lord who is thousands of years old. They are too perfectly, imperfectly human to hear everything he will tell them about her and twist her up into without recoiling. She will lose them. She will lose her friends. Again. </p><p>The Doctor’s knees fall out from underneath her, hair falling in front of her face as she braces her hands against the soft grass. She would weep, but she has no tears. So she breathes; she breathes great heavy breaths and heaves. She does not know how she will survive this. </p>
<hr/><p>“I’m not loving this,” Ryan says, shifting on his feet uneasily. </p><p>“Yeah, funnily enough, I’m not either,” agrees Graham sardonically. “And to think, the Doc was bringin’ us some tea, and we would have finally had, you know, a proper conversation about all this.”</p><p>“You honestly think the Doctor was going to come back with actual tea?” Ryan asks incredulously. “After seeing her face? She probably still’s holed up in the Tardis, mutterin’ to herself. For at <em>least </em>another half hour.” </p><p>“Sorry to interrupt this very important conversation,” Yasmin interrupts, clearly very unapologetic, “but is now really the best time to be arguin’ about tea? The man who tried to kill us a couple weeks ago just kidnapped us off the side of an alien planet under her nose. I have a couple concerns that don’t relate to earl grey.”</p><p>Ryan sighs, a muscle in his jaw jumping. “That situation almost killed us, Yaz, and we <em>had </em>the Doctor. This is just us and whoever that fellow really is. I’m going to bet you, right now, he’s not here for a game of cards. What do you want us to do? What plan could we possibly make to get us out of this situation?”</p><p>“Well I don’t know, do I?” Yaz exclaims. “But anything you can plan right now is a good sight better than arguin’ about whether or not the Doctor is bringing us tea or not. Let’s have a look around while he’s not in the room, and we’ll go from there.” </p><p>Ryan’s eyes shot to the door where the Master had exited seconds earlier, his warning that they should stay put ringing in his ears.</p><p>“Not sure about going directly against his orders when we don’t have the faintest what he’s gonna do with us when he comes back,” Ryan returns snippily. “I don’t have high hopes, as it is, and he doesn’t exactly strike me as… well. Stable. Not sure if you got that too, or if it’s just me.” </p><p>“Don’t be sarcastic, Ryan,” Yaz answers tiredly. “None of us want to be in this situation. None of us. But if I’m going to die, I’m going to at least <em>look </em>for a way out before I just accept my fate, yeah? If you want to stand here and argue, that’s your prerogative, but if you want to try and survive, do us a favor and take that corner over there. Try and find out where we are.” </p><p>The muscle in Ryan’s jaw jumps again, but after a long moment he nods, murmuring his assent as he moves to the corner of the room, in which stands a large shelf littered with books. </p><p>Graham moves towards her, and Yasmin feels his eyes roam her face for a long moment. </p><p>“What?” she finally asks, voice soft. </p><p>“You sound like her. That’s all. You sounded like the Doctor just now.” </p><p>“Is that a bad thing?” Yasmin asks him, turning away from to peer through the doorway of the room. </p><p>“No,” Graham answers quietly. “She’s made us better at coming up with plans, faster on our feet. Maybe that’ll help get us out of here- or at least delay him long enough that she has a chance to get to us.” </p><p>“Don’t talk like we’re going to die here,” Yaz tells him tightly. “We never do, and we won’t, not if we keep our heads screwed on. Here, go help Ryan sort through those books- I’m going to go see where the Master went, if this is a ship, or a house- or both, actually. I’ll be right back.”</p><p>Graham’s brow furrows. “I’ll go with you,” he offers. “It’s not exactly safe to go after him, Yaz.” </p><p>“I’ll be fine,” Yasmin reassures him, and sighs when his expression doesn’t change, nudging him gently with her elbow. “Trust me. I’m quick on my feet. I’m a good police officer, and I’m clever enough. Go help Ryan, and I’ll be back in a mo’.”</p><p>With a final nod towards Graham, she turns the corner of the doorway to come face to face with the Master, whose face turns from moody to delighted in a split second. She stumbles backwards into the room, and he follows her.</p><p>“Oh, that won’t do!” he exclaims, spinning around the room with the same flare that he had exhibited earlier when he had appeared with his shrink-ray-thing, threatening to ‘bring them down to size’ if they didn’t board his strange house-ship. “Look,” he started, eyes sincere and grin predatory, “I cross my hearts you’ll all have plenty of time to explore later- trust me when I say I am not here to hurt you. And I really am...deeply!... sorry... about the last time we met- extenuating circumstances. I’m sure you understand.”</p><p>Yaz stands frozen in place. She feels Graham’s hand find its way into hers and grasp tightly. Behind them, she can hear Ryan’s footsteps as he comes to stand next to them. She fumbles for his hand as well, taking a deep breath when he squeezes her hand back. </p><p>“I’m not going to hurt you this time,” the Master grins at them, eyes mad, fingers trembling as he clenches and unclenches his fingers in what seems to be barely contained glee. “I truly have no interest in harming you in any way. I have much bigger plans for you. You and I will all become very familiar in the coming days- trust me. But you’re not in any danger. Not from me, at least. Don’t want to make my promises too extravagant. Again, I’m sure you understand.” </p><p>Ryan swallows hard. “If you’re not gonna kill us- tell us why we’re here.” </p><p>“Why are you- why are you here? Oh- oh- that’s such a good question, really it is. And let me, please, let me have the <em>honor </em>of answering it. First, though, let me savor this moment-” he pauses, and the silence feels deafening. A slow smile creeps over his face as he closes his eyes gently and raises his hands towards them. “Do you hear that?” he asks, voice whisper-soft. “Do you hear that?”</p><p>“Hear what?”</p><p>His eyes snap open, and his smile is ferocious. “The silence, Yasmin Khan. The Doctor is <em>out.</em> And do you know what that means?” His fingers tremble, and he seems to vibrate with barely contained glee. “It means that I can actually- for once- answer your questions without her looking over my shoulder and <em>pestering </em>me. It means that I can finally tell you all what I’ve been dying to tell you- this whole time that I’ve known you- without the Doctor there to-” he pauses again. “Don’t take this the wrong way- without the Doctor here to influence what you believe.” He raises his hands to cut off their indignant response. “I know! I know, you love her, she saves people, the Earth, the universe, whatever, whatever, whatever. But you don’t <em>know</em> her. Ah ah ah-” He raises his hand again, shaking his head scoldingly at Ryan, who had shifted on his feet as if he were about to blurt something out that was particularly unsavory. “You don’t. Not like I know her. Because do you know what?” He smiles a dark smile, full of teeth and promise. “I have known her since before the beginning of this stupid little universe- <em>oh,</em> my bad, not stupid, just slow- apologies,” his face twists into something that looks almost genuinely regretful. “And sometimes, what the Doctor says- I hate to say it, I know you love her-” he takes a deep breath, pursing his lips as if to bolster himself. “The Doctor lies. The Doctor lies- a lot. I need you- if nothing else, I <em>need</em> you to know that.”</p><p>There is a long silence punctuated only by his soft breathing as he tilts his head to look at them, his expression reminiscent of a predator looking curiously at its prey- his eyes flickering between them and cataloguing their every moment. Yaz has the feeling that they are being watched, catalogued, and filed away into the database of his mind. It feels as if they are an experiment. </p><p>“And why are we supposed to trust you, again?” Ryan asks, tone indignant. “You’ve what, burned down the Doctor’s home planet and then kidnapped her friends? No offense- except a lot of it, actually- that sure doesn’t paint a picture of you as the most well-adjusted and truthful person in the universe. Sorry, mate, but I’m not buyin’ what you’re selling.”</p><p>“He’s right,” says Yasmin forcefully. “The Doctor’s our friend, which is a far shot more than we can say about you. Now take us back to her.”</p><p>“Or what?” asks the Master, leaning back against the wall, eyes half-lidded and expression amused as he observes them. “You’ll kill me?”  </p><p>“No,” said Yasmin, shifting on her feet and cocking an eyebrow as she folds her arms across her chest, “but trust me when I say that I can make your life <em>way</em> more difficult that it has to be. We’re very clever, the three of us.” </p><p>The Master straightens, clapping his hands together and looking delighted. Yasmin feels as if she has just walked straight into a trap that she hadn’t even known had been laid. </p><p>“By god, does she have a way of picking you people! You’re all- you’re all the same! It’s like she finds one of you and just- clones you over and over and over again to keep herself company. It’s - well it’s sad, actually, now that I think about it. Are you all- are you all like this, naturally?” His tone becomes earnestly curious, in a way so blunt it seemed forced. “Do you- do you just wake up, wanting to save the universe? Or does the Doctor <em>change</em> you, change all of the <em>dozens </em>and <em>dozens</em> of people she travels with, and adjust them- slowly but surely!- to her specifications?” he shakes his head in faux-weariness, then looks at them with wide brown eyes. “It does make me wonder.”</p><p>He stops. He shakes his head slowly, mournfully. “I have known her longer than the universe has <em>been.</em> Which I know… I know it’s a lot for your little heads to handle. The whole of time. But it’s the truth.” His smile is sharp and painful. “We are the closest of friends. And now, we’re still- the closest something else. Nothing that you and your Doctor could ever experience could even come <em>close</em> to how much she and I have experienced. So when I tell you she’s not who you think she is, I am basing that off of <em>eons</em> of experience.” He shakes his head, a rueful, sarcastic smirk on his face as he looks at them. “But- don’t worry, and this is where it gets fun-” he claps his hands together like a gleeful child, and it seems to be only a large measure of restraint that keeps him from twirling in a circle. “You can’t truly know the Doctor through your tiny little experiences and adventures over your miserably short lifespans. And I know, I <em>know</em> you want to know her. There’s no use lying about it,” he chuckles, holding up a finger towards them. “You can say whatever pithy, stupid things you like about her ‘being who she is, right now’- that’s what everyone tells her, actually, it’s quite-” he cocks his head- “pathetic-” he pauses. “But the truth is that the Doctor’s real personality? It’s shaped by everything she’s ever experienced- everything <em>you</em> know nothing about and that she will <em>never</em> tell you.” </p><p>“Are you seriously telling me that you kidnapped us to tell us tall tales about the Doctor? You’ve got to be kiddin’ me,” Ryan blurts out. “What’s wrong with you, mate? First you tried to kill us, and now you want us to exchange stories ‘round a campfire?”</p><p>Yasmin shoots Ryan an alarmed look at his sudden vitriol, and Graham looks warily at the Master, as if to gauge his reaction. The Master stares at them a long moment before squeezing his eyes shut as he sways back and forth. It is as if he is rocking a partner to music only he can hear. </p><p>“No,” he responds tenderly. “I don’t expect you to understand <em>why</em> I’m doing this. Not yet. We aren’t friends, and I don’t have a word for my relationship with the Doctor that you’re smart enough to understand. <em>Sorry, sorry.</em> But also- I hate to admit this, I really do-” his eyes dance with amusement, “you <em>are </em>stuck with me, until I’m satisfied. However long that takes us, is really up to you. But I am very, <em>very</em> old, and I can be very, <em>very </em>patient, so I would advise that you get used to the situation. Quickly.” His eyes turn stone cold, expression placidly threatening. “Do we understand?”</p><p>“So you want us to… ask questions about the Doc?” Graham offers, voice placating yet distrustful. “That’s all? And… when we’ve asked enough, you’ll let us go?”</p><p>“Yes,” replies the Master curtly, before making a face. “Well. No. I <em>do </em>want you to ask questions, but mostly- mostly I want you to <em>question.</em> I really, <em>really,</em> want to <em>watch you</em> as you realize that you have so, so many questions, and I want to watch you question <em>who she is.</em> Because of me.” He speaks the last words with heavy emphasis, seeming to vibrate in place with something darkly excited. </p><p>“Now, as much as I would adore to just stay and catch up with you all- it’s <em>unbelievably</em> frustrating how the Doctor did that whole thing on the plane earlier and saved your lives by rewriting the timeline, and I’d love to have a chat about it- maybe we could do that later, hmm?” He laughs, and it is charming. For a moment, if they hadn’t heard him speak, it might almost look like he was a well-balanced individual. “For now, though, I need to do some other work. Unfortunately for both of us, you are not my only priority. Deeply apologetic about that, from the bottom of my hearts.” He gestures towards his chest with wide, sad eyes, and then nods, as if gathering up resolve, before grinning maniacally. “You aren’t prisoners here. Feel free to move about freely. Explore. I know you want to. I’ll be around if you need me, or if you want to try and kill me, etcetera, etcetera, whatever whatever whatever.” He wiggles his fingers at them and cocks his eyebrows, spinning around. “Talk soon, darlings!” He finishes, and then his steps retreat as he exits the room and leaves them all alone. </p><p>Yasmin swallows thickly in the long moment of silence that follows, before turning to Graham and Ryan. Ryan’s face is bloodless, and Graham’s eyes are wide as saucers as he turns to face Ryan, expression incredulous and tinged with anger. “What were you thinking, Ryan?” he whisper-shouts, and concern bleeds across his face. “This bloke is obviously off his rocker, and you’re what, antagonizing him?” His expression crumples. “You scare me more than you know, son. By Jove. I mean, honestly.” He shakes his head and takes a deep breath. “We’ve got to think, what would the Doc do in this situation? Would she antagonize the enemy, or would she think of a proper plan?”</p><p>Yasmin raises her eyebrows at him. Graham winces. “Yeah, forget I said that bit. What <em>we </em>need to do, Doc or no Doc, is definitely start thinking of a proper plan.” </p><p>“Sorry,” Ryan mutters. “But the nerve on him. We’re trapped because of him, and we still don’t have the Doctor. If she would just explain stuff to us, just a bit-”
“Stop it, Ryan,” Yaz hisses. “That’s <em>exactly</em> what the Master wants us to do, isn’t it? He’s drivin’ wedges between us. Trying to warp our view of what’s true and what’s not. We can’t let him have that. We can’t let that work. Stronger together, yeah?” She gives him an encouraging nod. 
“The Doctor’s been nothing but good to us, for the most part, don’t get me wrong,” Ryan shook his head, “but that doesn’t mean we aren’t owed an explanation. Some of the stuff that happens around her is really, properly weird. And-”</p><p>“Honestly, Ryan, <em>everything</em> that happens around the Doctor is properly weird. Do you expect her to explain space and time travel, as well? Or whatever it is that lets her muddle around in time without bein’ wiped out of existence?” Yasmin asks him tetchily. </p><p>“You know that’s not what I meant,” Ryan appeals insistently, rolling his eyes. “You know what I mean, Yaz, and if you weren’t always trying to paint the Doctor as some sort of deity, you’d see that.”</p><p>Yasmin feels the back of her eyes start to sting, and she blinks it away, furious. “Don’t you dare come after me for defending my friend, Ryan Sinclair,” she orders. “I’m not going to apologize for stickin’ up for my friend for longer than ten minutes.” </p><p>“I’m not-” Ryan cuts himself off with an aggravated huff. “Let’s just make a plan, alright? And in the meantime, no matter how we feel, we need to stick together, the three of us. And we need to get the Master to keep us alive, no matter what sort of questions we have to ask about the Doctor. Right?”</p><p>Yasmin swallows, jaw clenching, but nods her assent along with Graham, who squeezes her hand softly. </p><p>“We can do this,” Graham murmurs to the two of them softly. “I have faith in us, and I do trust the Doc, too. She’ll do her best to help us from the outside. It’s up to us right now to help ourselves from the inside.”</p>
<hr/><p>Losing people is not a new pastime for the Doctor. Whether she leaves them or they leave her, inevitability dictates that without fail, anyone she knows or cares about will disappear from her life. Trying to hold on to someone she values is like holding back the tide, or holding sand in clenched fists and watching it pour out from between her knuckles, a broken hourglass spilling out streams of time. </p><p>If nothing else, time will steal love from her. It is a give and take- she gets all of the time in the world, but in return she must give everything that she finds and treasures back up in turn, an eternal exchange for as long as she travels among the stars. </p><p>The only thing- the only person- who has ever stayed constant- is the Master. Everything he holds onto, he overdoes, so that each time he sees her he becomes something new in pursuit of eternity, and every time she sees him he seeks out the apex of every emotion with such ferocity that it drives him to pursue life to the edge of death itself.</p><p>She doesn't know what he wants from her friends, and that scares her more than anything else. Because she is not there with them. He hasn't brought her along to try and hurt her with their deaths, and he has not told her in excruciating detail about how the light faded from each of their eyes in turn. She can only assume that for now, at least, they are alive, but if they are alive that begs the question; what is he planning with them? To what ends will he pursue this new passion? What will it drive him to do? And what will it do to her companions?</p><p>She has been selfish. Too selfish. She has kept herself close to herself in the way that she has mastered over thousands and thousands and thousands of years, has not even thought to <em>truly</em> open up to her friends. And with sickening realization, she realizes that he knows her, he knows her in ways that other people have never known her, and he hates her and loves her simultaneously. He is ruled by this passion with no name.  </p><p>Time is prodding her, reminding her of the power that is constantly held over her, reminding her of the <em>balance, </em>of the fact that she cannot keep anything forever, whether it be her friends or her secrets. Or both. </p><p>She closes her eyes shut, tries to center herself enough to reach out to him.</p><p>
  <em>Contact. </em>
</p><p>He answers fast. Quicksilver amusement that does not belong to her flashes through her head, followed by languid enjoyment, and an almost tangible shivering. He has been waiting for her. He has known that she would call, and for once, he welcomes it. </p><p>She cannot help herself. She begs.</p><p><em>Please. Please don’t hurt them</em>. </p><p>He laughs, low and fascinated, overarchingly cruel.</p><p>
  <em>What will you do if I do? </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I will find you, she tries. I will find you and I will make you pay. I will-</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Pathetic, even for you. You really are losing your touch. Try bringing up a bit of the Oncoming Storm next time, and maybe I’ll be less overwhelmingly bored when we talk. Destroyer of Worlds? Well, I certainly am withering away over here. You’re frightening. Frighteningly dull, that is.</em>
</p><p><em>Don’t hurt them</em>, she pleads. Even in her head, it comes out too forcefully, too full of emotions she does not want him to see.</p><p>He laughs. </p><p>
  <em>Come talk with me, Doctor. Come figure it all out, and maybe, just maybe, I’ll consider giving them back to you. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Where are you?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Good try. I’ll come to you, in the back entrance of the Matrix. Gallifrey. Tomorrow evening. Be there or be- well. Complicit in your friends murder, I’d say, but that seems a little rude, so I’ll go with ‘square.’ Kisses, love. </em>
</p><p>He yanks his consciousness away, and the Doctor is left stumbling backwards into her console, gripping her head before fumbling madly for the controls. She will not- she <em>can </em>not- endure the deaths of another set of friends. So she will do anything. </p><p>She pulls down a lever and propels herself into the vortex.</p>
<hr/><p>Sleep comes, but it is fitful, interrupted every half hour by bouts of harsh wakefulness, sharp and horrible with its reminder of the truth- they are stuck with a man who has tried to kill them, and they are far, far away from the Doctor’s reach. </p><p>The Master remains absent for the rest of the day and the night. Eventually, the three of them find spare throws and pillows off an assortment of chairs and the couch and toss them haphazardly into a large pile. It is their bed, for now, a place where they can lay down together and find some semblance of comfort entangled in  blankets and pillows and eachother’s arms. They soak it up as much as they can, falling in and out of sleep in intervals. </p><p>There is no sense of time passing- the house-spaceship has no clocks in it whatsoever, and the windows lead to an empty void no matter when they check them. As such, when all three of them feel sleep will no longer come, they declare it morning-time and slowly make their way to what should have been a kitchen, had it not been co-opted by what seemed like countless unrelated glasses of various colored liquids across the counters and what looked like an advanced touchscreen set up completely in the sink basin, connected to hundreds of wires that strung across the ceiling. The sink was divided from the rest of the kitchen by an ornate shower curtain- or a rug with hooks hung from the ceiling. </p><p>It looked like a very unlikely place to keep anything remotely edible, but a very plausible place to be concocting a virus that could wipe out the human race. </p><p>“Well, we’ve uncovered his real plan,” Graham says, and it sounds almost like he is trying to joke. “He’s going to starve us to death, keeping us in a house that looks a bit like it’s been inhabited by an alien tryin’ to pass as human.” </p><p>There is a moment of awkward silence. Yaz grimaces. “Yeah, go figure,” Ryan mutters, and Graham sighs. “Sorry,” he tries, raising his hands a bit. “Didn’t realize how apt that was. Properly chastened, that’s me.” </p><p>“Maybe we can find him and he’ll bring us some breakfast,” Ryan suggests, aiming for ‘hopeful’ but falling rather flat. “And maybe,” he continues, sarcastic, “He’ll get us some lunch too, before he drops us out the door into the empty blackness of what I suppose has to be space.” </p><p>“Do you figure this is a sort of Tardis, too?” Yasmin asks, wandering around the kitchen and opening cupboards slowly. One cupboard reveals a very large collection of what looks like ornate mugs. The next drawer holds nothing but a shattered fob watch, which clinks loudly against the wood when she slams the drawer shut in frustration. </p><p>“I hope not,” mutters Graham. “One doesn’t want to think about how there could be multiple time and space travel machines floatin’ about the universe like nobody's business in the hands of people who’re a little bit off their nut.” </p><p>“You’re right,” shuddered Ryan. “Let’s not think about the fact that we’re in a flyin’ house, and focus on the fact that even if the Master fellow does give us food, there’s a properly high possibility that it’s poisoned and will kill us all.”</p><p>“For god’s sake,” muttered Yaz. “Let’s not.”</p><p>Ryan looked rather like he was torn between looking chastised or long-suffering.</p><p>“There’s somethin’ in this drawer, here,” Graham said brightly, and they wander over to where he is standing to peer over his shoulder. “Half-empty packet of crisps. Disgusting, but edible.”</p><p>“What’s the date on them?” Ryan asks skeptically. </p><p>“Who cares about the bloody date,” Yasmin retorts, “it’s crisps, a couple of weeks here or there won’t hurt.”</p><p>“April, ah- 1927.”</p><p>“That’s a whole relic!” exclaims Ryan, turning accusing eyes to Yaz. “You want us to eat those? Opening that bag’d be like goin’ on an archaeological dig.” </p><p>“I didn’t expect them to be that old,” Yasmin snaps at him, sighing a second later before breaking into a grin and shaking her head. “Hand them over and keep looking.”</p><p>“You’re not gonna eat them, are you?” Ryan sounds horrified.</p><p>“No, you idiot. Not right now, at least. I’m going to put them over by our stuff- the pillows and bits- just in case.” </p><p>“That’s awful thinking, thank you.” </p><p>“I’m sorry- <em>for trying to keep us alive.</em>”</p><p>“Settle down, now,” Graham says pointedly. “Arguin’ about rationing out the century old chips isn’t goin’ to help us any. There’s still a few more drawers over there if you fancy a look, but I’m going to go out on a limb and say that this fellow doesn’t eat regular food.” </p><p>“He feasts on blood,” Ryan mutters sullenly. “And we’re a nice fresh supply. Standing right in his stupid kitchen, too.” </p><p>“Hush,” Graham returns evenly. “Nobody wants to hear that.”</p><p>“Nobody’s going to hear us scream, more like,” starts Ryan helpfully, and Yasmin elbows him in the side. </p><p>“Get over here and help me look through these last few cupboards,” she orders him, face warring with an expression somewhere between amusement and exasperation.</p><p>There is silence for several minutes, the only sound being that of their rustling through drawers and cupboards. </p><p>“Fancy seeing you here!”</p><p>Yaz yelps from where she us half-buried in a cupboard and starts back so quickly that she slams the back of her head into the cupboard door. Letting out several exclamations, she backs out of the cupboard to face the Master, who is leaning against the door of the kitchen and looking extremely self-satisfied. Next to her, Graham and Ryan look similarly shocked, though Graham looks more wary than anything. </p><p>“Was it something I said?” drawls the Master. “My, you certainly took the welcome to my home quite literally. Looking for something?”
“Food, actually-”Graham starts irritably, and the Master looks at him and makes a considerate face, like he only just now remembers that they needed to eat. “I suppose that would make sense,” he agrees. “Forgotten that you lot are so <em>needy</em>, actually…”</p><p>Ryan scoffs incredulously and Yasmin feels inclined to agree with him. </p><p>“The <em>welcome</em> to your home?” he asks disbelievingly. “You mean the <em>kidnapping,</em> yeah?”</p><p>“Kidnapping is just- so <em>blunt,</em>” the Master says, sighing sadly. “I prefer the term dubiously-ideal abduction, myself.” He flashes them a charming smile. “It adds a certain… flair. Very me. Besides, as I said, I have no wish to hurt you. Really, truly, I like you much better in complete pieces, and as a complete set. The Doctor’s precious trio- united.” He sighs, smiling. “Picturesque, the looks on your faces. Wouldn’t want to ruin <em>that,</em> would I? No, not at all.”</p><p>“So you don’t… want to hurt us. You’re just keeping us here,” Yasmin prods bravely.</p><p>“Hurt you? <em>Hurt</em> you? No. No, no no no no- you have it all so wrong.” He shakes his head slowly, as one might shake their head at a disappointing child. “I don’t want to hurt you, believe me when I say that. I do- I do want to hurt the Doctor. Just-” he held out his fingers, his index finger and thumb barely touching- “just a little. Is that bad?” he lets out a cunningly self-deprecating laugh, eyes cast on the floor. When they flicker up to meet Yasmin’s, they are full of something very old and hurt and malevolent. To her right, she hears Graham breath in a careful breath.</p><p>“I want to hurt her how she’s hurt me. She’s carved her way down into my bones, and I <em>didn’t even have a choice!”</em> His voice grows steadily, rage building behind each of his words. “Everything that I <em>am</em> is because of her and trust me when I say that it <em>hurts.</em> And I-” he shakes his head violently, as if getting rid of a stray thought, and takes a deep breath, a sharp and terrible smile slicing its way across his mouth. “I want her,” he starts, smile firmly in place, eyes clear and bright. “I want her to hurt for it. I want her to know <em>exactly</em> how much I suffer for that every day.”</p><p>“What did she do to you?” asks Yasmin. In her head, the question is accusatory, derogatory. When she speaks it out loud, it comes out too soft. Too sympathetic. She blinks, hard, and tries to compose herself.</p><p>“You were- close friends,” Ryan starts, slow, eyes carefully tracking his. “You said it yourself- you’ve known her longer than any of us.”</p><p>“Just tell us why you’re so angry at her. Because I can see it. The anger,” Yasmin says. “Tell us why you took us.”</p><p>The Master scoffs, but for a moment there is something very real behind his eyes. It reminds her of an animal, wild, untamed, free, and out for blood. </p><p>“The Time Lords,” he starts. He closes his eyes. “Oh, there are legends about the timelords. Songs, poems, eddas, verse after verse after verse about their <em>superiority.” </em>His eyes and mouth curl around the words with disdain and ironic amusement. “Most of the things written about the legend of the Time Lord planet are written by the Time Lords themselves. They’re fun like that- very pompous. Arrogant.” one corner of his mouth pulls up in something that resembles a snarl, but it is quickly replaced by a placid smile accompanied by eyes full of rage and turmoil. “They’re the self-appointed rulers of the universe-no- <em>all</em> universes. All galaxies. Existence itself. They fancy themselves to be the ultimate judge of- well.” He shrugged, eyes laser-focused on hers. “Everything.” he breathes. “The rest of existence is <em>so</em> much <em>lesser</em> than a Time Lord. We hold the winding of time in one hand and eternity in the other, and we have all of eternity to become more and more and <em>more</em>-” he laughs, his entire body wracked by a sudden shiver of excitement, eyes ablaze. “And for the rest of the universe, a second hasn’t even passed. Do you see it, Yasmin Khan?” He paces a wide circle, wild and chaotic energy coalescing around him. “Do you see why Time Lords are <em>revered?</em>” He looks at her, eyes blazing, and Yasmin feels <em>small. </em>Which she does not want, which she will not allow, so she tilts her chin up like nothing in the world can scare her and looks him directly in the eyes, daring him to see anything about her that is small or scared.</p><p>He stares back at her and cools off yet again. His eyes turn as passive as anything, eyes blank and smile unnerving. He gestures broadly, gracefully, folds himself down onto the floor in wordless invitation</p><p>She obliges, folding herself down next to him, and besides her Graham and Ryan do the same. She does not know why she does it. Perhaps it is the feverish intensity that he brings to the room, the passion he leaks with every word he forces out, or the fact that his moods swing faster than she can track. Or maybe it is the fact that for the first time in forever, she is getting what she feels will be a proper, detailed <em>explanation.</em> Even if it’s his. Because one side of the story is better than half truths, and more than anything else, Yaz is so tired of dancing around the fact that she is flying about the universe with an alien creature who is apparently older than time itself. Or something. She doesn’t quite know. And so she sits, and waits for a long moment until the Master’s eyes refocus on theirs, once again gaining an uncanny intensity. </p><p>“We were told that we were special, chosen. Elite. And we were children, we knew no better than to accept it, and once we were older, it was rote.” He shakes his head, lifts a hand in front of his face and studies it with feverish intensity. “Little did I know, it was all lies. They lied to us. Lied to me. Do you- do you know what they <em>did</em> to me?” He jams his index finger into his temple so suddenly and so forcefully that Graham flinches. The sound of bone on bone makes a dull thud that carries heavy through the kitchen, and the Master’s teeth grind together in his mouth. When he speaks again, it is a whisper, but the emotion in his voice is so raw it feels as if he is screaming at the top of his lungs.</p><p>“They drove me mad. I was barely a child, and they drove me insane. On <em>purpose.</em> And they didn’t care. They didn’t care how it affected me. And I accepted it, I accepted <em>madness, </em>because <em>I</em>,” he slams his hand back down into his lap, “am a Time Lord. And I was told I was special, and people who are holy and set apart have struggles that are different than any common <em>idiot</em> could ever fathom. And so I accepted madness as a price to pay for glory.”</p><p>Suddenly his hand lashes out, and before Yaz can even react, much less think, he has grabbed the mug in front of him, displaced in their hurried search for food, and hurled it, its trajectory barely missing her temple before it smashes into a million pieces against the wall behind her. She flinches, her hands curling in, and watches him with dark, clever eyes. She will not let the fear roiling sickly in her gut show on her face. She must be brave. Next to her, Ryan and Graham are frozen stiff, eyes wide.</p><p>The Master stares after the mug for a moment before shaking his head. “Sorry,” he says, and he sounds almost repentant. Maybe Yasmin would believe his apology if his eyes weren’t so terrible. “Don’t mean to be so rude. Who throws glassware at guests. You have my apologies.” A muscle in his jaw tightens. </p><p>“It was all a lie.” His mouth is caught between an angry snarl, a sad smile, and a grimace. “We were never special. We were just poor imitations of something beyond our comprehension. I was never <em>holy, </em>nor did I ever have a <em>glorious purpose.</em> And do you- do you want to know why?” His smile is friendly but his teeth are bared, a congenial smile across shark teeth. </p><p>“Because the first Time Lord wasn’t even a Time Lord. The first Time Lord was an alien nomad with no home, just a shoddy ship made of spare parts and maybe a little bit of hope. And she found a child who could do extraordinary things, and she experimented on her. Killed her a million times over, so that the first Time Lord could learn to live.” </p><p>Yasmin flinches. The Master’s face is placid, like the murder of children was a dinner conversation topic. </p><p>“And that, Yasmin Khan, is how Time Lords arrived at their ‘superior biology.’ Their ability to cheat death. Regenerate. By senseless experimentation on a child. And what that means for me is that I was never destined for anything except to be the secondhand castoff copy of an abandoned alien child, the product of a planet senselessly corrupt on power and lies. All along, the truth has been that <em>every single </em>Time Lord is nothing but a genetic mutation, a cheap copy of greatness on a power high.” </p><p>He shakes his head, the full body shiver taking him over once again. His eyes closed as he sighed, leaning slightly backwards. “And I devoted my entire life, even subconsciously, to the cornerstone idea that I was great, an idea fed to me by an entire civilization. That I was destined for greatness and always would be superior, and I was willing to go mad for it. And it was all a carefully constructed <em>lie.</em>” He ends his sentence on a snarl, and Yasmin knows that in this moment he is capable of anything. If she does not tread carefully, one wrong move could mean something very unpleasant for all of them. </p><p>She opens her mouth to ask her question, dread falling heavy in her stomach. The Master beats her to it. “You <em>already know</em> who that child was, Yasmin Khan, but what’s worse is that <em>she </em>doesn’t. She doesn’t remember. They erased her entire recollection of it. It’s sickening. We were both told the same lies- that we were conquerors, superior, <em>rulers,</em>- but the whole time it was <em>true</em> for her and nothing but <em>lies </em>for me- and I’m <em>sick of it!” </em>He roars, his eyes bright and crazed. “<em>She </em>is the only thing making me what I’ve thought I always have been, and I want to pull her out of my skin by the roots and drag her down for it. So yes, Yasmin Khan, I want to see her <em>hurt. </em>I want to watch her realize what they have done to her, what they have done to all of us, and I want to watch her watch <em>you</em> as you realize more and more that the Doctor herself is nothing but a series of carefully crafted lies and stories.”</p><p>“Sweet bloody hell, the child they killed was the Doctor,” Ryan murmurs, and Graham whispers out a silent cry of pain. Yasmin’s heart is shattering into pieces. </p><p>“You burned Gallifrey,” she cannot help the words that spit from her mouth, sharp and accusatory. “You may be hurting, but you flattened an entire civilization and its peoples. You cannot justify that.”</p><p>“Oh, is that what the Doctor told you?” says the Master, eyes suddenly too bright. Something in Yasmin’s chest plummets. She has walked into something, and she can feel its grip around her ankles, full of deadly intent.</p><p>“<em>I </em>burned Gallifrey? How very like her to say something like that. Yasmin Khan, I will tell you who really burned Gallifrey. The Doctor burned Gallifrey. She thought our people were too power-hungry, and she knew that a coming battle between the Time Lords and the Daleks- you’ve met them, yes? Sound familiar? Do you remember how <em>viscerally </em>she <em>hated</em> them? How unwilling she was to think of them as anything but <em>evil?</em>” He shakes his head. “They fought the Time Lords. The scale of the battle was so immense that the Doctor- well.” He shrugs a shoulder, sly eyes turning to hers. “She killed them all. All of the Daleks. All of the Time Lords. Gallifrey <em>burned</em>, Yasmin, but was it me?” he shakes his head, a warped sort of boyish laugh bouncing from his lips. “Funny she might say that. She tries to justify it, of course. For the good of the universe. But there were <em>two point four seven billion </em>children on Gallifrey that day. How do you justify those murders? She and her adopted mother. Cut from the same cloth.”</p><p>Yasmin feels as if she cannot breathe, as if all of the air in the entire galaxy has been pulled away from her in one fell swoop. </p><p>“You’re lyin’,” Ryan tries to snarl, except it comes out as a plea. </p><p>“The Doc wouldn’t-” Graham starts, but his breath catches on emotion.</p><p>The Master ignores all of them.</p><p>“You all follow her around with puppy-dog eyes, and you all <em>let </em>her make you into little soldiers for all of her various causes and moral <em>claims.</em> And she gets away with <em>all of it, </em>always, because she explains it all away in little, tiny, half-truths.” He shakes his index finger and thumb at her again, held only millimeters apart. “You know, don’t you?” His grin is manic. “You <em>know</em> what I’m saying is true. I can see it in your eyes. You don’t want to believe that your precious friend would raze a race to the ground. Oh, Yaz,” he says mournfully, his voice quiet and whispering. “Think of all of those billions of <em>children.</em>” </p><p>He stands up, but it is not abrupt. It is slow and graceful, like a predator. His eyes are sharp, his mouth curling just as sharply around a satisfied, dagger-like grin. “All across the galaxies, they call her the Oncoming Storm. The Destroyer of Worlds. I bet you can guess why.” He laughs, sudden and bright and horrible, and waves her away with a brush of his hand. “Good talk, Graham, Ryan. Yaz.” With that, he shoots to his feet, shooting them one last heavy look before exiting the room.</p><p><em>Don’t</em> <em>call me that</em>, Yaz tries to say, but her mouth is frozen, and her heart cannot remember how to beat, much less her lungs to breathe. Ice curdles down her throat and into her stomach, and she is suddenly <em>freezing. </em></p><p>
  <em>‘The Oncoming Storm. The Destroyer of Worlds.’</em>
</p><p>Her Doctor is a murderer. </p><p>It rings with terrible clarity throughout her entire being, and the worst part is that it <em>fits</em>. It fits so well that Yaz hadn’t doubted it at all, as soon as he’d said it. As soon as the Master had said it, she had realized with terrible certainty that it was true, beyond a shadow of a doubt. And it slides into place around the Doctor like a well-worn coat. It hurts. It hurts so much that suddenly Yasmin realizes just how the Master is going to <em>hurt</em> the Doctor. He is going to make her watch this, he is going to tell her the truth about her awful, horrific childhood and then he is going to show her what he has done to her f<em>am</em>. He is going to sow seeds of doubt in their hearts and watch them grow, and he is going to laugh as he throws stone after stone after stone at her until she can no longer get up. </p><p>She realizes he was being completely truthful when he said that he was not going to hurt them. He was not going to hurt them at all. He was going to fashion each of them into daggers poised perfectly to hurt her, and he is going to let them loose directly at her hearts, one after the other, until she hurts with the same savage intensity that he does. And she loves her Doctor, and always will. She really does. But with a jolt of horrific clarity, she realizes that his plan just may work. </p><p>Even though the Master has left the room, the thick aura in the air that he had brought with him lingers over them like a heavy quilt. </p><p>“You don’t think what he said is true, do you?” asks Ryan, but his voice tells his friends that he has already accepted the Master’s words, and instead of searching for a reason to believe them, he is desperately looking for a reason <em>not </em>to believe them. </p><p>“I thought we knew the Doc, to some extent,” Graham murmurs. “But something this big- it makes sense, I s’pose, that she didn’t tell us. It also makes sense that it could be-” he breaks off, looking at them with weary eyes.
“It fits,” Yaz agrees quietly, giving voice to their thoughts. Ryan’s jaw clenches, but he does not disagree with her. Graham sighs. “Maybe that’s why she always seems so tortured,” he offers, a pithy excuse. “She’s trying to make up for it. She’s good enough to want to try, I know.”</p><p>“Bein’ a bit good doesn’t excuse a genocide,” Ryan bites out before sighing, closing his eyes and letting his head hit the cupboards behind him. “This is all too rough. Don’t really want to think about it. Let’s go home.” The last is said in a tone of desperation. </p><p>Yaz hums her sympathetic assent before sighing and burying her head in her hands. “This is surreal,” she mutters. “The Doctor’s oldest friend, another Time Lord, come to- hurt the Doctor? Because he’s more than a little crazy but wants to -what? Tell the truth about her? So she can hurt like he has?” She stops, sighing and shaking her head. “None of that makes sense, rationally. What sort of relationship is built like that..”</p><p>“He’s more than a little obsessed with her, though. It’s not healthy,” Ryan observes with a shudder. “Honestly. The look in his eyes when he was talking about her?”</p><p>“He said he’d known her longer than the universe,” Graham observes. “That’s so old I can’t even wrap my head around it. But if it’s true…” he pauses. “If it’s true, he’s probably the only constant in her entire life. Especially if she- burned her home planet, and everyone else with it.” </p><p>“If she was the one to burn to Gallifrey, and not him- why’s she been acting so strangely recently? So melancholy? You’d think if she were the killer, she wouldn’t be so torn up about it,” Ryan offers.</p><p>“You heard him. She did what she probably thought was the best for the universe. She does try to be just, doesn’t she? Doesn’t mean she was right, though,” mutters Graham.</p><p>“Haven’t we had to make similar choices, though?” Yaz defends suddenly. “For the good of the universe- even if it means someone has to die? It’s not easy, but sometimes what’s best or right isn’t easy.”</p><p>“Two and a half billion <em>children</em> though, Yaz,” Graham says, and his voice is pained. “Children. There’s no- that’s over a quarter of the Earth’s whole population.” </p><p>There is silence for a moment. Then, Graham speaks up again. </p><p>“Over in the living area there’s a shelf,” he starts, slowly. “Before O became the Master, he told me it was all about the Doc. Offered to let me read it. Maybe it’s all true, maybe it’s not. But it can’t hurt to read up, can it? Try and gather up as much information as we can before jumpin’ to any conclusions?”</p><p>“Not like we have much else to do,” Ryan shrugs, wrinkling his nose, curiosity evident in his eyes. Yaz tilts her head in silent contemplation before reaching over to squeeze both of their hands. “At least we’ve got each other,” she murmurs. “Though, neither of you had better be hiding anything big from me. Not sure how many more secrets I can take.” She is only half-joking. </p><p>“No one else I’d rather be stuck with,” Graham agrees lightly, but his eyes convey to them the seriousness of his statement. “We’re going to make it through this. We will.”</p><p>It is the next morning when the ship shudders, coming to a grinding halt. Yasmin, who has been sitting on the couch staring at the shelf that Graham had mentioned, is thrown half a meter up into the air with a loud shriek. She lands on their pile of pillows and blankets, and from somewhere a few rooms over she hears Ryan yelp and Graham let out a muffled cuss. Moments later, they both come into the main area, looking more than a little annoyed and disheveled. Ryan grimaces and extends his hand to Yasmin, pulling her up out of the pillows as she blows a strand of unkempt hair away from her face with a huff. </p><p>“Little warnin’ before we crash land would be nice, wouldn’t it?” Graham asks sardonically, walking towards the drawn blinds and opening them. </p><p>To their surprise, the blinds open to reveal something besides the empty void of space. The gleam of metal grating behind the window ignites a feverish hope deep in Yasmin’s stomach, and she tries her best to suppress a grin. </p><p>“Anywhere is better than middle of space,” she enthuses quietly to the both of them with bright eyes. “Means the Doctor has a chance of finding us. Even a small one- more than she had before. She’s gonna find us, I know it.” </p><p>Ryan looked at her, expressionless for a long moment, before his mouth quirked. “Alright,” he said finally. “I believe you.” </p><p>The silence is tender, lasting for a long, peaceful moment before a slow clapping permeates the room. </p><p>It is the Master, entering the room with slow, purposeful steps, shaking his head solemnly as he claps his hands again. 
“So moving,” he says finally, and wipes an imaginary tear from under his eye. “I mean- completely wrong- but very moving, trust me.” </p><p>Graham sighs, and Ryan grunts a bit, like he wants to say something but decides not to. </p><p>“What do you mean the Doctor can’t find us?” Yasmin asks. “You do know the Doctor, right? Said you knew her better than anyone, actually. That woman can do anythin’ she sets her mind to. You don’t really know her if you think she’s just gonna leave us here, alone, an’ not doing anything about it.” She laughs, leaning back against the window, crossing her arms. </p><p>The Master stares at her a long moment before blinking suddenly and shaking himself back into awareness. “Sorry, were you talking?” He asks, faux care coating his voice. “I zoned out. My bad.”</p><p>He throws a paper bag onto the table, gestures to it abruptly, and turns to leave before seeming to changing his mind and spinning back around, face set in thick lines of annoyance. “Honestly, please try to forget the Doctor for a while. It’s incredibly off-putting when I can’t get out from under her shadow and she isn’t here. It makes me,” he clenches his fists, “angry. Don’t make me angry, please.” He grimaces at them before cocking his head to the side and beaming. </p><p>With that, he spins on his heel again towards the main door, pressing his hand up against it and whispering something. With a loud clunk, the door swings open, and he turns to gesture towards them, making it clear that he expects them to come with him. </p><p>“The best part of any lesson- the most important part,” he starts. “The evidence. Unluckily for you, I did not bring the Doctor here on a panel to answer your questions, but I did bring youto something just as good. Truths, evidences, rooted in the rich, bloody history of Gallifrey. I don’t care if you like me. I don’t care if you hate me, or imagine skinning me every time you close your eyes.” The grin that he shoots them is dark and delighted at the prospect. “But you <em>will </em>listen.” </p><p>He places a hand on the open door, holding it open. “Ladies first,” he says, tone even and well-mannered. </p><p>When they have all exited, the Master shuts the door firmly behind them. </p><p>“You’ve a Tardis too,” breathes out Ryan as they turn and see what was once a house now a nondescript metal pipe with a barely visible door. </p><p>Yasmin feels her heart sink a little further than it already had been. </p><p>“What did you think this was, the Wizard of Oz?” asks the Master derisively, snapping his fingers in Ryan’s face. “Catch up, why don’t you?”</p><p>Their surroundings are dim, lit only by flickering, fluorescent-type lights hanging far above their heads. They are standing in a long hallway made completely of silverish metal grating, probably about half a meter wide, but a sheer drop off the edge for several feet before the continued levels of grating beneath them, going on for as far as the eye can see. In front of them is a long hallway with several turn-offs, also made out of metal grating, and what looks like a door at the very end of each turnoff. Each door stands alone, nothing behind it but more grating, but there is a door every so often, and they dot the expanse of metal frequently, brilliant red doors easily visible among the glinting silver. Above them is a ceiling made of grating which doubles as a floor for the next level, and above them as well, there are so many overlapping layers of grating that one cannot see anything but the cold glint of metal above or around them.  </p><p>“Welcome to the back entrance to the Matrix of Gallifrey, home planet of the Time Lords.”</p><p> No matter the circumstances, there was something almost special about thinking that wherever they were, this was where the Doctor was <em>from</em>- a place taken out of her mouth and made real around them. </p><p>“<em>Don’t</em> ask questions,” continues the Master, voice irritated as Graham opens his mouth to ask a question, “just follow me. And do try, at least, not to be too conspicuous- humans aren’t quite allowed on Gallifrey, and it would bring our blossoming friendship to a very sudden halt if you were all to be killed horribly in front of me.”</p><p>“What?” mutters Ryan as they start off at a quick pace down the clanging metal rampway, before the Master comes to and pushes open one of the many red doors with the heel of his foot. “In you get,” he exclaims brightly, and they file slowly into the room. </p><p>When the door swings shut behind them, they are enveloped in complete darkness. It stays dark for a long moment, but then there is a whir like a machine starting, and several meters in front of them, a raised dais, perhaps three meters wide and two tall, illuminates itself, glowing a brilliant white before dimming down into a pale yellow. Yasmin blinks furiously to clear the spots from her vision before starting towards the dais, careful to mind her footsteps. When her eyes adjust, she is able to tell that the metal has given way to a thick, black marble, stretching as far as the eye can see. It should be impossible, given that the door had seemed to lead to nothing at all besides more grating, but she supposes she should be used to impossible now. Nonetheless, it still boggles the mind how the Time Lords she know treat natural law as a vague irritation, and not a boundary. </p><p>“Is that a person?” Ryan asks suddenly, voice dubious. </p><p>“I’ll say,” declares Graham softly. Yasmin’s eyes snap back to the room’s source of illumination, and she finally sees <em>her.</em></p><p>“This is Designation 5.5,” the Master says quietly as they advance towards the table. She is a humanoid figure, long dark hair and pale skin. She is robed in dark red robes and hovers heavy over the glowing table, eyes closed. She looks almost like she is sleeping peacefully, arms folded over each other, no expression visible on her face. “She is in containment, and her consciousness is being uploaded -as we speak- to the Matrix, Gallifrey’s center of Time Lord knowledge. She’s <em>also</em> the division’s most specialized agent. Not necessarily their best,” he smirks, a slow thing that seems to have a hidden meaning, “but certainly specialized. Her vast library of experience means she’s quick and efficient. But she’s dangerous, too. I wouldn’t recommend crossing this one, no.”</p><p>“What does she do?” asks Yaz, reaching her hand out towards the hovering figure. Her fingers hit an invisible barrier, and it feels almost like static electricity, like if she presses any further against the barrier her arm will fall asleep. She retracts her hand slowly, and her fingers almost brush against the hem of the woman’s robes. </p><p>“She changes time. A bit like your Doctor, actually,” says the Master, and though his eyes betray nothing, his tone has a strange inflection that Yaz can’t quite place. </p><p>“She helps people, then?” asks Graham. “Same as the Doc? Or-”</p><p>The Master laughs, a wild and sudden thing, spurting in gasps from him like the gushing of blood from a stab wound. “She helps only the noble calling of the Time Lords, old man,” he responds, but the moniker has no harshness. “As the Time Lords order, so she does. This is the weapon of a Time Lord, in all its glory.” He spreads his hands out towards the woman in a sort of mockery. “This has felled civilizations and built corruption, and this has shaped the galaxy as we know it to the ends of the Time Lord. You wonder, perhaps, how Time Lords were able to build up for themselves such a fearsome reputation throughout all the galaxies and proclaim themselves kings without protest? This is why.”</p><p>“I don’t understand,” Ryan murmured. </p><p>“Your Doctor is forever going on about how <em>important</em> it is not to meddle with fixed points,” the Master spits, eyes glimmering. “Designation 5.5 is the antithesis of what the Doctor stands for. Designation 5.5 rewinds time so that no matter who or what Gallifrey goes up against, they will <em>never </em>lose. Her ability to rewind time makes it so that any opposition to the Time Lords is known before it even arises and is summarily wiped out, and any disagreements between Gallifrey and other planets are caught and… dealt with… before they even arise. It is impossible for a people to lose a battle they have already won in the future because of their <em>knowledge</em> of that future, is it not? She is given… assignments. She completes her assignments, either according to plan or however she pleases, and then her mind is completely wiped of it, and she is given a new one. Over and over and over again.”</p><p>“So she kills people?” </p><p>“Ryan Sinclair,” the Master says with great scorn, “what you are looking at is not a weapon so useless as to be singularly reserved for murder.” Each word is punctuated by a strong gesture, his very body a livewire of emotion.  “What you are looking at is diplomacy, forced diplomacy, and a harbinger of war. A war that will be won before it has even started, thanks to pre-knowledge of the event, and a victory granted to the Time Lords due to the careful maneuvring of this woman, right here.” Again, he gestured grandly towards the woman, but his eyes glitter with malice. </p><p>“Why is she here? If she’s so important?” asks Yaz. </p><p>“She’s currently out of commission.”
“Why?”</p><p>“Her last assignment went… awry,” the Master reveals, a curl twisting his lips. </p><p>“What’s that mean?” questions Graham. “Awry as in how?”</p><p>“She has exacted her vengeance, several times, on the wrong side of the war or conflict she is meant to be vengeant against. Each time it happens, she is uploaded to the Matrix before she is wiped, so the counsel of Time Lords who give her assignments can see what she did, and try and prevent her from subverting plans the next time.”</p><p>“This is sick,” spat Yaz. “The Time Lords just order her to kill people? And she does it? Whoever, whyever they like? A government shouldn’t have the power of judge, jury, and executioner.”</p><p>“Tell that to the Time Lords, and they’ll <em>decide</em> to kill <em>you</em>,” laughs the Master, and Yaz shoots him a dark look. “Executioner. That’s <em>exactly</em> what she is. And I agree completely, Yasmin Khan. But I haven’t even told you the worst part yet. This woman- right here, right now- has been the weapon of the Time Lords for longer than you’ve been alive. Multiplied by, well, several hundred. And for every successful mission she runs- and I have to admit, she is <em>extremely</em> successful when she is successful- she runs another one that ends in disaster. Imagine- imagine this.” He levels his hand out towards Yaz like he is holding a dagger. “You have a knife, and for everything it strikes, it also falls back against your hand sharp-side with an equal force. You wouldn’t keep a knife like that unless it were very, very good. Luckily for the Time Lords, Designation 5.5 <em>is</em> very good. And, well,” his eyes glitter with something dark, “the Time Lords have never been too scrupulous about how much murder goes on, as long as <em>their </em>ends are met. So they keep her. And she <em>kills.</em>”</p><p>“We can’t just let them kill whoever they like on a whim,” Ryan interrupts, an incredulous look painting his face. “If you <em>know </em>she’s going to go right back to killing after she’s been here for a bit- can’t you- there’s some way to stop her, there has to be.” </p><p>“There always is,” agrees the Master, but his voice carries no particular emotion. It is oddly flat, a strange sort of glee sparkling behind his eyes. “If I were to say that if I could dispose of her right now, with my tissue compression eliminator- ah, pardon me, <em>shrink ray, </em>for those of us not so astute- would you let me? One life in exchange for thousands?”</p><p>Ryan and Yaz recoil. Graham lets out a very shaky breath. “Listen, we didn’t come here to kill anybody,” he inserts carefully. “You said we were just here to have a look around.” </p><p>“You heard him, though,” Yaz turns to Graham. “What happens if we leave, Graham? What then? We continue on livin’, knowing that out there somewhere there are probably whole <em>species </em>being eradicated because of her?” She shakes her head, gritting her teeth. “This isn’t the first time that something’s had to be done for the sake of the rest of the galaxy.”</p><p>Ryan shoots Yaz an incredulous look. “You’re proposing we, what, shrink-kill her?”</p><p>The Master hums, as if the idea is of note.</p><p>“Are you serious?” Ryan continues. “Yaz, come off it. There’s nothing we can do about her, not right now. We haven’t even properly met her.” </p><p>“We can’t just kill this woman,” Graham insists. “Yaz, that’s - what are you on about?”</p><p>“Not kill,” Yaz accedes, “Maybe. Imprison? Put away? Time Lords regen- regenerate, remember? Just- Remember what we talked about,” Yaz says, eyes flashing with intensity. “For the good of the universe? That’s what the Doctor <em>does.</em> And she’s not here right now, but the universe- it’s still out there. Still needs savin’, same as always.”</p><p>“We were talking about something totally different. Not murder,” Ryan insists, voice pitching up in alarm. “Yaz.”</p><p>“Oh, isn’t this just <em>lovely,”</em> the Master sighs, and his eyes are closed, arms waving gracefully in front of him like he is conducting an invisible orchestra. Just as quickly as he became placid he is swallowed up by rage once again, and in one fluid movement he is striding towards them, eyes flashing.</p><p>“<em>Do you even understand what this </em>thing<em> is?</em>” he hisses, eyes full of rage. “This is the ego of the Time Lord, suspended above you. Look upon it- <em>look upon it!”</em> His eyes are crazed, his tone forceful enough that it almost becomes a scream. “You cannot kill her, I already know you aren’t strong enough. And you do not know what she stands for. What an atrocity she truly is. Designation 5.5.” He scoffs. “ Make sure you remember her, from now on, every time you make a choice for the greater good of the universe. Every time you make a hard call for your precious galaxy on the behest of your precious <em>Doctor.</em>” His chest heaves, his eyes glint madly.</p><p>He pulls himself back from them visibly a moment later, closing his eyes and rolling his neck as if to rid himself of a crick. When his eyes open, they have lost their feverish emotion, but it becomes more obvious than ever that his calmness is the thinnest of veneers covering the constant turmoil within him.  “We should go now,” he offers lightly. “It’s far past time to be leaving. Perhaps we will meet her again. I just- I just wanted you to know. To see for yourselves that I am telling you the truth when I say that Time Lords are complex beasts, high on self-given glory. <em>Don’t </em>make the mistake of thinking that knowing the surface of someone as they are now is knowing them truly… especially when that person meddles in time, and can be a hundred different places and people at once.”</p><p>“The Doctor is nothing like this,” Ryan starts angrily, but falters. He had dismissed some parts of the Master’s vitriol the other morning as hatred morphing into slander, but the Master’s words come back to him now, hitting him as hard as a sledgehammer. He cuts himself off abruptly, and the Master notices, glancing at him with amused eyes. </p><p>“The Doctor might be <em>everything</em> like this, for all <em>you</em> know,” he returns with a sneer. “She has always been multifaceted enough to slip through everyone’s grasp, no matter how hard they <em>try </em>to love her. She contains multitudes.” His voice is almost tender on the last word, but it is tender in a predatory way, like an animal pretending to be wounded before it strikes.</p><p>“Let’s go,” Yaz mutters, her heart rate thumping loudly in her chest. She shook herself. Who was she to call the Time Lords egotistical and awful for acting as self-mandated judges of all creation and then turn and contemplate ending a life? She grit her teeth as the Master side-eyed her with a knowing glint in his eyes.</p><p>The walk back to the Master’s Tardis was slow and silent, their footfalls falling heavy on the metal grating. As they approach the Tardis, the Master crosses behind the others and comes up to Yaz, eyes unexpectant and yet much too knowing.</p><p>“I know what it is, Yaz,” he whispers as if to a conspirator. “I know <em>exactly </em>what it is to know the truth but have to <em>restrain</em> for the sake of another’s conscience. Isn’t it sickening? Yasmin Khan. Minds like ours aren’t meant to be stifled.”</p><p>“Get away from me,” mutters Yasmin out of the corner of her mouth, steadfastly avoiding his eyes. </p><p>“You should listen to yourself, more, Yasmin Khan.” Yasmin registers him shaking his head in her peripheral vision. “You have a bright mind.” </p><p>“Killing people isn’t a ‘bright idea,’ and I’m <em>nothing </em>like you,” Yasmin hisses in disagreement, anger creeping into her tone. She takes a deep breath. “Murder isn’t-”</p><p>“I wasn’t saying it was,” the Master agrees with her, his tone light and amused. For some reason, Yasmin doubts that he would disagree if she said murder <em>was </em>a bright idea, but she does not voice that thought. “The good of the universe, though? Isn’t that what you want? You should listen to the part of you that wants <em>that. </em>The good of billions and billions of people.”</p><p>“And I should take this advice from someone who blew up a plane I was in,” Yasmin says flatly, finally glancing towards him. “Because that was obviously for the good of the universe, that we be screamin’ our heads off for a good twenty minutes.”</p><p>He raises his hands in half-defense, his eyes focusing forwards. An unidentifiable emotion flits across his eyes, something halfway to amusement. “I didn’t blow up the plane,” he returns. “Just the cockpit. There’s rather a big difference, survival wise.”</p><p>“So what, you <em>didn’t</em> want to kill us all?” she scoffs. Ahead of them, Ryan falters, and she knows he is listening. If the way the Master watches Ryan’s back is any indication, he is aware, as well. Instead of responding, he just hums thoughtfully. </p><p>“If I told you the truth, would you even believe me?” he asks, face the picture of innocent questioning.</p><p>Would she believe his answer, regardless of what it was? Days ago, Yasmin would have firmly said no. But in light of the Master’s recent conversations with her about the Doctor and her own conversations with Graham and Ryan, she doubts that she would outright dismiss him. He, at least, has gone out of his way to back up his claims with evidence, and he is becoming harder and harder to dismiss.</p><p>She shakes herself. The Doctor is still her friend, even if she hasn’t given them clear explanations. She loves the Doctor, fiercely- everything she loves, she loves wholeheartedly, and even if everything the Master has said is true and the Doctor is truly a misguided mass-murderer, there would always be a part of Yasmin that loved the Doctor with everything she had.</p><p>But she could still listen to him, if he proved himself truthful. She says nothing.</p><p>“Perhaps,” he says after her long silence, “perhaps I should have reached under the dais and woken her up,” he whispers. “Let her <em>tell </em>you about the people she has killed. Their names, their jobs, why they were nothing more than a planned casualty, whether their deaths were <em>her </em>plans, or the plans of the Time Lords. Perhaps I should have let her give you a report on one of her...assignments.” His lip curls. “Would you still be so self-righteous then?”</p><p>Yasmin feels her heart pounding in her chest, but she does not let herself reply, walking the rest of the way to the Tardis in silence. When they return, the Master lets them in before stepping back out of the Tardis. “I have an errand to run,” he says, and there is something heavy and dark about him, a look in his eyes that bodes no good. He swings the door shut. There is a heavy thud as it locks in place and they are sealed in the Master’s Tardis once again. Yaz feels her heart flutter in her throat. She knows where he is going, who he is going to, knows he is returning to talk to the Designation.</p><p>A part of herself wishes she could go with him.</p><p>The Master wakes her up. He cannot help himself. It is inevitable. All it takes is a caress of his consciousness against hers, too deliberate to be anything but a call to awareness, before her eyes snap open and become alert with the practice of a soldier.She focuses on him for a long moment, hovering silent in her prison, before the speaks.</p><p>“Designation 5.5.” </p><p>“You are not a programmed division leader,” she responds, tone flat. “You are not in the database.” Then, a long moment later, “Who are you? Why are you here?”</p><p>The Master laughs in delight. </p><p>“They try so hard to wipe you down to <em>nothing, </em>and they fail every time,” he whispers, almost reverent. “Your curiosity stays with you, does it not?”</p><p>She says nothing, and her face reveals even less, but her eyes are locked onto his. </p><p>“You’d think you could hold onto something a little more useful than curiosity, through all of this. Honestly. What happened to beautiful, <em>beautiful</em> revenge? Anguish? Anger? Pain? Trauma? Is it too much to ask? Why does it always have to be stupid things like love or determination or ‘justice?’ What an <em>exhausting</em> woman you are.” He shakes his head solemnly. </p><p>Designation 5.5 says nothing, but her eyes are clever. She is cataloguing everything he is saying, he knows. Categorizing it, cross-referencing it against everything else she knows.</p><p>“So,” he says, eyes intense and interested. “Is there anything else you remember?”</p><p>“I do not understand your question,” replies Designation 5.5. She stops for a long moment, and there is complete silence in the room save for the hum of the dais. “Even if I did understand your question,” she continues, “it is a breach of Division protocol to discuss assignments with non-division members.” She pauses, brow furrowing, before all expression is wiped from her face. </p><p>“It all starts to leak through, doesn’t it,” the Master whispers to her, gleeful. “You’re too brilliant for it <em>not </em>to. Everything comes back to you, without fail, each and every time. They try- oh they try! They reformat your mind every time you act on your own morals, strip you down to nothing at all to try and make you agree with <em>them, </em>replace everything you are with falsehoods over and over and over again, and yet-” He laughs delightedly, eyes dark. “You always remember. I <em>know </em>you do.”</p><p>“Why am I here,” asks Designation 5.5. “I am usually woken once the wipe is done, but it is never here, in the Matrix. It is always somewhere- else. Something almost- normal, to support their idea of normalcy.” Her brow furrows for a brief moment. </p><p>The Master claps his hands together, approaching the dais and peering up at her with great pleasure in his eyes. “Finally,” he extols. “Finally, you’re asking an actual question. That’s my girl. Well, the Time Lords and I don’t exactly see eye to eye - to say the least- so I have absolutely no issue with throwing a wrench in their plans. You were right. I am most certainly <em>not </em>a division officer. I am here to <em>talk, </em>and you will answer, because I have answers about your future. <em>All of them.</em> Anything you might want to ask- I’ve lived it. I know you, thousands and thousands of years from now.” </p><p>“Why should I tell you anything,” asks Designation 5.5. “The Division does not exist. You are an intruder. You cannot be told anything.” </p><p>“I know what they will <em>do </em>to you,” responds the Master, eyes flickering darkly. “When they tire of your bouts of rule-breaking. I know who they will turn you into, what they will <em>reduce </em>you to.” </p><p>Designation 5.5 simply watches him with flat, dark eyes. </p><p>The Master snarls. “You could be great, Designation 5.5,” he says mournfully, clawing a hand down his face. “You could be so much <em>better.</em> You could be- if you were really determined to be the <em>best, </em>to outsmart <em>everyone."</em></p><p>Designation 5.5 says nothing. </p><p>“I’m tired of you,” the Master decides suddenly, eyes snapping with anger. “You are as useless as you ever have been or ever will be, and you are <em>tiring </em>beyond all else.” He strides towards the dais to turn it off and send her violently back into her slumber, and his fingers reach out to the switch-</p><p>“Wait,” she says, and for the word’s quietness it is no less desperate. “What do you want to know.” </p><p>The Master’s eyes glimmer with satisfaction. </p><p>“What any friend wants,” he cajoles darkly, madly. “I want to know about your <em>job.</em> What it entails. I know your memories- <em>your </em>memories, not your ‘caretaker’s’ facsimiles- are returning to you now, and I know you <em>know </em>what you have done. Every bit of it. Is it killing you? How you killed all of them?”</p><p>Designation 5.5 confirms nothing, but her eyes flicker almost imperceptibly. The Master smiles. </p><p>“Tell me,” he orders, walking a few steps back in order to fold himself down and sit cross-legged on the floor. “Tell me everything.” </p><p>Designation 5.5 is quiet for a long while before she begins. </p><p>“I am informed of wars,” she starts. “The division leaders and administrators tell me of a particular war that a division scout has identified, and I am sent, at first, merely to investigate.” She takes a breath. Her tone is flat and impassive, but her eyes glint with emotion, albeit rusty from disuse. </p><p>“The wars to which I am sent either affect Gallifrey directly- wars waged <em>against</em> them or wars waged whose results affect them indirectly. Sometimes, I am sent to investigate events that are not wars at all- simply large events that affect the trajectory of Gallifrey as the planet of the elite, the set apart, the legend.”</p><p>The Master scoffs before motioning for her to go on.</p><p>“So I watch the events unfold,” she continues. “I watch the Time Lords either win or lose, I watch as wars lost destroy the people of Gallifrey, whip them down to size, make them as normal as any other planet. I watch as events do not go their way, as conferences work against their favor, or as leaders make decisions that make Gallifrey look <em>insignificant.</em>” </p><p>Her eyes focus on his, and they are dark and almost passionate. </p><p>“And then I rewind time.” She confides, the edge of her mouth pulling up in something that might either pass as a snarl or as a smile. “And I intervene.” </p><p>“You rewrite time in favor of the Time Lords,” the Master whisper, hands seizing on his lap, eyes bright and horrified and interested. “I <em>knew </em>it.” </p><p>“The fate of Gallifrey is a puzzle,” Designation 5.5 says, and her inflection is almost rote in the way she says the words, like they have been told to her countless times and she is repeating it. “The Division moves the pieces of the puzzle and rearranges them to best suit the glory of Gallifrey. We are a mighty nation. We must never fall. We are worthy. We are <em>the </em>worthy.”</p><p>The Master laughs, long and loud and fascinated, uncrossing his legs to lean his elbow on his knees and his chin in his palm. “But they do,” he says sarcastically, making it sound like a simple observation. “They do fall. Ever so often.” </p><p>Designation 5.5’s dark eyes flash with something real, something passionate, a shadow under a pond. </p><p>“The problem with meddling around with time,” she says, “is that you can only do it so much before Time itself collapses. The Time <em>Lords</em>, of course, are all too aware of this fact. However, when events occur that <em>need </em>to occur- beyond the interest of Gallifrey alone- I choose to go against the orders of the Time Lords, instead rewriting time in favor of the event that determines the fate of the universe as a whole. I work for the preservation of the galaxy, in every stolen moment, in every way I can.” </p><p>“And what does that mean?” asks the Master, a dark grin on his face. </p><p>“It has meant leading a revolution of an oppressed peoples against Gallifreyan authoritarianism,” Designation 5.5 replies, “instead of watching their revolution come to pass and make only a little impact- I simply tossed the rock into the pond harder in their favor. Created a larger ripple.” </p><p>“And the Time Lords know you choose to do this, and yet they continue to give you more assignments?”</p><p>“I’m the best,” Designation 5.5 says, and there is a hint of pride in her voice. “When I toss the rock in favor of Gallifrey, no other division agent can compare to how <em>well</em> time responds to my touch. It’s like time was <em>made </em>for me.” </p><p>The Master springs to his feet with a sudden, furious roar, and he rushes towards the dais in a fury of rage, slamming his hand against the kill switch. Designation 5.5’s eyes have time to do little more than widen before they drop closed, and her head falls to the side again. The Master screams, slamming his fist against the invisible field of energy encasing Designation 5.5.</p><p>“TIME-WAS-NOT-MADE-FOR-YOU!” He roars, swiping a hand through the energy hard enough that it kicks him back several feet, spitting and hissing in <em>fury. </em>“TIME IS MY BIRTHRIGHT! MINE! <em>MINE!</em>”</p><p>He steps back further, panting, eyes flashing and nostrils flaring, and he stands there, fists clenching and unclenching spasmodically for several minutes before he takes a shuddering breath and settles back down onto the floor, <em>waiting, waiting. </em></p><p>It is several long hours in the dais room before the whirring of the Tardis slices through the silence, and he closes his eyes and basks in the singular sound of her emergency brakes protesting as her ship thuds onto the marble floor. </p><p>The door swings open with a squeak, and her eyes find his immediately. She approaches him, stride wary but also restrained, as if she would like nothing better to pounce, to <em>demand </em>answers from him. </p><p>He stands slowly, leisurely. “How nice of you to join us,” he tells her. “Really, it’s splendid of you to come. Sorry that I didn’t put out the nice china for you, only it was all a bit short notice.” </p><p>“Who is this,” she bites out, looking up at Designation 5.5 before her eyes flicker back to his. Her eyes are dark, angry, uncertain. She does not know why she is here, even now. He holds every single card. </p><p>“This, Doctor, is <em>you.</em>” </p><p>Her brow furrows in confusion for a moment, before she lets out a frustrated and drawn out breath. “I’m not here to play games,” she spits. “I am here to do whatever it takes to get my friends back, and then I am <em>leaving.</em>”</p><p>“What a shame,” the Master sighs. “Here I was, thinking you might have time for one tiny- measly, really, miniscule- game. With me. For old times’ sake. What do you say, Doctor? A trip down, ah, memory lane? Quite literally?”</p><p>The Doctor simply watches him for a minute, eyes flickering over his face. “Once,” she finally agrees, jaw tightening, eyes half-rolling while also roiling with barely contained anger, posture tight with restraint. </p><p>“Fantastic,” he laughs, and he walks several meters away from her before turning to face her again. “Hop on up, Doctor.” </p><p>He reaches down and flicks on the lights of a second circular dais, some distance from the first, earlier invisible in the darkness. It illuminates his face as he smiles, makes his grin menacing. Dark. </p><p>The Doctor does not move to follow him for a long while, but finally she sticks her hands deep in her jacket pockets, eyes brooding and tight as she approaches the dais and hoists herself up. The Master shrugs. “Well,” he tells her, “I <em>was</em> going to help you up, but you’ve gotten yourself up there all by yourself, and oh so nicely, too. I don’t even have to time my escape or how I’ll avoid the static restraint field as I jump off. Ta, Doctor. Enjoy your trip into the Matrix. I’ll see you momentarily.” With that, he slams his fist down on a second switch next to the first, and the Doctor topples to the side as she falls suddenly unconscious. The Master makes no move to catch her as she falls, instead watching dispassionately as the static field whips itself up and into action, catching her and reverting her form upright before slowly pulling her feet up off the dais until she is hovering the same as Designation 5.5.</p><p>The Master walks back to observe the both of them, clapping his hands together delightedly and rolling his neck, a mad look of satisfaction in his eyes. </p><p>“This could be the start of <em>such </em>a beautiful collection,” he says mournfully. “What a shame I’m going to have to break you two up.”</p><p>He sighs, walking back over to Designation 5.5. “Take two,” he announces loudly. “Try not to be so sanctimoniously <em>you </em>this time, please.” With that, he flips the switch again, and with a deep breath, Designation 5.5 wakes again, just as quickly as last time. Her eyes immediately find his, dark and clever. “You’re still here,” she observes. </p><p>“Of course I am,” he says with faux-incredulity. “I have big, big plans for you, Designation 5.5.” “When her mind connected to the Matrix,” says Designation 5.5, and her eyes flicker to the Doctor, “just now, there was a moment in which I <em>saw</em> her.” </p><p>The Master’s face wrinkles. “I hadn’t anticipated that,” he mutters, but his expression quickly clears to a sick interest. “And what did you see?” he encourages her, eyes sparking. “What did she <em>tell </em>you?” </p><p>“She <em>told</em> me nothing,” replied Designation 5.5 flatly. “She did not see my consciousness, but I saw hers, in the brief moment that she was forcefully connected to the Matrix. And what she <em>showed </em>me-” she stops, watches him. “You wiped out all of Gallifrey,” she says finally, dark eyes following his, tone flat and placid. “You willwipe out all of Gallifrey, kill all of its glorious people.” Her eyes are pained, angry. “You <em>will be</em> and therefore <em>have been</em> found wanting by Rassilon herself. You are nothing, and to nothing you will return. You are not of the same import as the lives of those on Gallifrey, and thus will die. Thus is the ruling of the Division.”</p><p>The Master laughs, sudden and angry and loud, eyes blazing. “<em>Nothing?</em> I’m a far sight more of <em>anything </em>than Rassilon has ever been. I’m not part of your <em>job. </em>You still know the truth, don’t you? When it creeps back to you, over and over again? You’re the one they’ve experimented on. You can see it in their eyes, no matter how many times they try to make you <em>forget. </em>They walk around you on eggshells, don’t they? Afraid that if you show your hand and reveal your knowledge, then you are powerful enough to turn the tide in your favor, once and for all.”</p><p>His eyes glitter with excitement. “They are <em>afraid</em> of you. Use that. <em>Use it!</em> Why won’t you <em>leave! </em>You’ve explicitly gone against them before- why not free yourself. Free yourself, once and for all. Live your life as <em>yourself.;</em>” His voice is angry, coercive. Desperate.</p><p>Designation 5.5’s eyes flicker, but the shadow of emotion in her eyes disappears as fast as it comes. “You are afraid, too. Do you know what else I saw in her head?” </p><p>The Master growls, shaking his head furiously, but she continues. “I saw myself. I know what my mind feels like.”</p><p>The Master’s breathing is loud and ragged.
 “You are afraid of what I will become- what <em>you </em>will become- if I stay on Gallifrey and they decide to wipe my memory for good. You knew me, didn’t you? I have seen <em>myself, </em>and I have seen you with me. In another childhood, after they wipe me completely, we lived on the fields of Gallifrey together. Why are you so afraid of that?”</p><p>“If I never have to meet you,” the Master spat, “I never have to live my whole life trying to measure up to you- an impossible ideal. The timeless child.” His eyes are angry. “You don’t know what it’s like! You don’t know what it’s like to <em>never be enough!</em> And to think, my entire childhood, I was thinking that I had a chance- that if I were <em>good </em>enough, <em>better,</em> I could be better than you. And the whole time, the odds were stacked in your favor- always in your favor! The golden child of Gallifrey! You’ve always been special, and I never knew why I could never compare. I never knew how to be special,” his eyes are angry, angry beyond belief. “And it <em>killed </em>me. You don’t know how that feels.” </p><p>“I wasn’t enough for my mother,” Designation 5.5 replies evenly, emotionless. “She could never find what she wanted from me.” </p><p>The Master falters, eyes alight with feverish delight. “You remember, don’t you. You remember <em>everything</em> they’ve <em>ever </em>done to you.” He barks out a laugh, thrusting his hands into the air in victory and spinning in a circle. “And yet, even <em>knowing</em> that they’ve <em>murdered </em>you and now send you out to murder at their bidding, you still stay.” He growls, irritation evident in the lines of his body. </p><p>“I do not always remember,” replies Designation 5.5 finally, and it is a tangible admission, a card played heavy on the table. “When I do remember, I act on behalf of the people that the Time Lords find beneath them, people that they want to extinguish. And then they bring me back to Gallifrey, and erase everything I know, and then they send me out again. And when I remember, I remember everything. And so I stay, because one Designation in opposition to the Time Lord’s regime of horror, even half of the time, is better than none at all.” </p><p>“You’ve always been too smart for your own good. <em>I knew you knew.</em>” He snarls. “You <em>disgust me.</em> Why won’t you <em>leave me alone! </em>UNDO THIS! UNDO ME! RELEASE ME!” </p><p>“I cannot,” Designation 5.5 responds. Her dark eyes reveal nothing. “I serve the people.”</p><p>“You only stay on Gallifrey out of fear,” the Master spits. “I know you could take them. I’ve watched you burn the entirety of Gallifrey in a single Moment. You could kill them all, and then help those other people however you like. I’ve watched you bring the heavens down for what you think is justice. This is petty, compared to that.” </p><p>Designation 5.5 shifts on her feet, brow furrowing for a split second.</p><p>“Oh, you didn’t <em>know?</em> Oh, your precious future? You didn’t see it in her head? You burn your precious <em>Division </em>to the ground. In the same way that you move undetected against them now you will kill<em> them</em>. Your own desire will weigh contrary to theirs, and this time you won’t just kill the wrong side of an army or lecture an alien government on their own emancipation contrary to the Time Lords’ wishes. This time- this time you will burn them <em>all.”</em></p><p>“No,” she whispers. “You’re lying.”</p><p>“You always <em>say</em> that!” He roars. “You <em>always </em>say that,” he repeats, softly and tenderly. “You’re really only fooling yourself. You saw it, you <em>saw </em>her. You saw yourself, you saw <em>everything.</em>” </p><p>“I would not kill the Time Lords,” says Designation 5.5, voice giving in to the barest hint of emotion. “I am not like them.” </p><p>“You’re like them half of the time,” said the Master, voice harsh and unforgiving. Designation 5.5 flinches, and a self-satisfied smile spreads out over his face. “You’re exactly like them, when you aren’t <em>strong enough</em> to remember.” </p><p>“What do you want from me,” she asks, eyes flat. </p><p>“You will come with me,” he says. “You will show me how you rewrite time, and you will rewrite it in <em>my</em> favor. On some distant morning, galaxies away, there is a woman who finds a child,” his face curls into a snarl. “And she takes the child. She cannot.” </p><p>“You want me to rewrite myself.” </p><p>“If you don’t, Gallifrey will burn anyways,” he tells her, tenderly. “By your hand, and then mine. All those billions of children, killed. Just like you have been killed, over and over again, except this time, <em>you </em>will be the one to kill them, not your mother. Is it not better to erase all this suffering- to not let it even start? To end this millenia of pain before it can even start?”</p><p>For the first time, Designation 5.5’s eyes are unsure. They are afraid. They are almost childlike in their <em>fear. </em>Their indecision.</p><p>“Come with me,” he whispers to her, eyes alight. “End this. Start it. This is what you <em>do-</em> turning the tides of time for the best. You can’t deny that the fall of Gallifrey- the nonexistence of Gallifrey- is the best thing for the entire galaxy. And to undo Gallifrey…” he trails off, looks her in the eyes. He looks almost sorrowful, were he not sparking with barely contained excitement. “All we have to do is undo <em>you.”</em></p><p>“I have <em>already</em> been undone. In every life I have ever lived, or will live. I know it, I have seen it,” she replies. “I have never <em>not</em> been undone. I will help you,” she says, slowly. “But you have made the mistake of thinking I have ever been holy, special, or even whole. I have been desecrated. I have been sacrificed. I have not been held, not once. I have been precisely unravelled, undone, but being sacrificed does not make me sacred. I am not holy. I am held together by shattered memories, self-sewn stitches. That does not make me gentle or holy. It has made me nothing more than <em>afraid.</em> And a very, very good runner too, apparently.” </p><p>The Master looks at her for a long moment, and his expression when he moves again is one of acceptance but not involvement. He hears her and accepts what she says as what she believes, but he does not believe it himself. </p><p>She did not expect him to. It shows in her face. </p><p>He slams his hand against the release switch on her dais and catches her as she falls, helping her up and looking at her with keen eyes. “Onwards,” he whispers, a word full of simmering emotion and deadly promise. </p><p>“My Tardis is kept down the hall,” she tells him. “Where do you want to meet again?” </p><p>“You aren’t going to run, are you?” he asks gently, but his voice is full of warning. </p><p>“I have never been afraid of death,” she responds. “This is no different. I haven’t been afraid of death since I first fell off the cliff, since the twentieth time my mother killed me. This is nothing. This is undoing every murder Gallifrey has ever ordered, either by my hand or another.” </p><p>He nods stiffly. </p><p>“However, I do wish to rewrite something first.” Her eyes are dark. After a moment, she continues. “I want to stop you from burning Gallifrey. Not kill you, just displace you enough that you never do it.” </p><p>The Master scoffs. “To what end? It will never burn if it or its people do not exist.”</p><p>“That is not why I would rewrite it,” she finally responds. Her voice betrays nothing. </p><p>“Don’t tell me- oh, this is a conscience thing again, isn’t it?” He jeers. “You and your constant, unfailing, <em>awful </em>desperation to absolve yourself, at all times, always. You <em>want </em>to be clean. You <em>want </em>to be special.”</p><p>She does not acknowledge this, instead looking at him blankly. “They were my people, even if I have no special affection for them. You killed them because of what you discovered about me. The children did not deserve to die, not due to the sins of the mother. They never have.”</p><p>The Master’s jaw clenches and his eyes fall shut as he nods. “Fine,” he bites out. “Enact your misplaced piety, and then come one last time to die.” </p><p>“I will see you on the fields of Gallifrey,” she tells him, before walking away from him and through the door. </p><p>The Master stands alone for a long moment before he returns to the Doctor’s dais, where he has been splitting his attention this entire time, where he has been telling her. Telling her everything. With a flick of a switch, she jolts back into awareness. Her eyes do not focus as quickly as Designation 5.5’s do, but when they do, they are anguished. </p><p>“Do you see now?” he asks her. “Do you see everything now? Is it all clear?” </p><p>She says nothing, chest heaving. In the corner of her eye is a tear, but it has not yet fallen. She is <em>destroyed. </em>Satisfaction curls hot in his ribs. </p><p>“Oh, and I’m not even <em>finished </em>destroying you, yet,” he spits. “That woman? Who you saw? You don’t even <em>know </em>what she’s about to do. Oh, Doctor.”</p><p>“She-” the Doctor whispers, <em>pleads. </em>“You’ve shown me everything, but you haven’t shown me her. She’s- I know, she’s me. <em>Tell me. </em>” </p><p>“Oh, I’m sorry, I must have left that bit out,” the Master says, very much not sorry at all and not bothering to hide it. </p><p>“Tell me,” she snarls, and her voice splits down the middle. “Tell me who I was, where she fits into <em>me. </em>She is <em>me. </em>TELL ME!”</p><p>“NO!” The Master yells back, eyes flashing. “She is <em>mine, </em>Doctor. She has been wiped <em>completely </em>from the Matrix. I found her by searching and searching and <em>searching,</em> Doctor. She was the only piece of the memories concerning the Division that I even came <em>close </em>to decoding, and once I saw them, I <em>destroyed </em>them. She is my secret, and you don’t ever get to know her! Do you hear me! <em>It is because of me that you know yourself and yet cannot know yourself fully! </em>Does it hurt,” he hisses, anger and malevolence painting a rictus across his face, “does it hurt to know that everything you have ever known about yourself is a lie, and yet you cannot <em>know </em>the lie completely, cannot unravel it?”</p><p>The Doctor says nothing, but her eyes are confirmation enough, pleading. The Master nods, slamming his hand up against the static as he stares at her, eyes dark and full of hatred. “I know it hurts,” he dismisses, and then he <em>laughs. </em>“It hurts so badly you can’t think through it. It’s all encompassing! It retroactively taints every memory you’ve ever had! You cannot even <em>think </em>of anything without the thoughts coming up doused in <em>flames,</em>” he continues, snarling, wild. “And you have me to thank for it. Feel this, Doctor. Feel this pain. Know this truth. <em>Suffer. </em>Because I have <em>suffered.</em>” </p><p>He steps back, snarl painting his face, breath coming in short pants, hands curled into fists at his sides. </p><p>“I’m leaving now,” he says spitefully. “I am going to go undo you. There will never be a child under that glorious portal, not after I am done. There will be no Doctor. There will be no <em>companions. </em>Now that I think about it, there probably won’t be an Earth or a universe anymore either, given how often you have to step in to rescue all the stupid creatures mucking about the galaxy.” He sneers. “But you won’t <em>care</em>, Doctor, and neither will I. Do you want to know why?” He doesn’t give her room to answer, steamrolling forwards. “Because neither of us will exist either!” He cackles, bending over to support himself on his legs, laughter wracking his entire frame, eyes joyous. “We will be equal, Doctor,” he says ever so softly as he ceases to laugh and spends a moment pushing up the sleeves of his shirt. “As thought in life, so <em>will be</em> in death. Death does not discriminate. The sun sets on us both as evenly as it does anyone else. You are not special beyond the veil.” His voice is soft. </p><p>The Doctor’s eyes are heavy-lidded, and he can tell that she is about to fall asleep, that her body has been pulled to the very limits of its capabilities in the last few months, and this is one thing too many. He knows that he is killing her now almost as much as he will kill her a little while from now, two equal forms of death coming about in different ways. It feels so, so <em>good. </em></p><p>“Please,” she murmurs, and there is a tear trailing down her face, now. Her eyes are half-closed, voice weighed down with exhaustion “My friends. Help...my friends.” </p><p>“Loyal to the last breath, Doctor.” The Master shakes his head. “You can’t help them,” he says, softly, tenderly, and then his face shifts to simultaneous delight and furious, furious anger. “Do you <em>hear </em>me, Doctor? You can’t- you can’t <em>help them!</em>” He lets out a bark of high, elated laughter, approaching her with wild, wild eyes and a beam cast about his face like a ray of direct light on the gold cities of Gallifrey- too bright to look at, too intense to fully perceive. He is beaming, he is <em>exultant,</em> the Doctor can feel the sharp spike of his thrill in the back of her head like it could be her own. </p><p>“I can <em>feel</em> you in my head,” he says. “You are <em>alone,</em> Doctor. They are not going to come for you. They have bigger concerns, and I have spared <em>no </em>expense in telling them <em>anything</em> about you that they wish to hear. Listen to me- <em>listen to me!-</em> I can feel everything you are feeling.” He lets out a delighted laugh. “I can finally feel your great despair! The despair! The despair of the <em>Great Doctor.</em> Brought so low- by whom? Hmm? I can’t hear you. Who have you been brought low by? Say it. <em>Say it!”</em></p><p>She says nothing, watching him through thick, sorrowful eyes. </p><p>
  <em>“SAY MY NAME!”</em>
</p><p>“Master,” she whispers, a reedy, cracking thing, “please. Not for me. For them. Please- let them be. I can’t- the <em>world</em> can’t- lose them. Let them hate- let them <em>hate </em>me,” her voice breaks. “Let me die. Please, let them live. Let them be. Keep them safe.”</p><p>He shakes his head fast, rapid, manic, as if shaking her words away from his head, swatting at the air around his temples as if to physically rid him of her voice. </p><p>“No, no, no, no. We cannot talk about <em>them</em> right now! Try to keep <em>up!</em> We’re talking about you, Doctor. You and me. Age old relationship- longest one you’ve ever had! Well. As far as you know.” His lips curls, anger evident in the whipcord-tense line of his back. “Tell me, who has brought you so low, now, the Timeless Child herself? Who are you <em>pleading </em>to?” </p><p>The Doctor breathes heavily, gasping breaths escaping her in great, heaving sighs. Her arm moves ever so slightly towards him, the effort making her jaw clench, and exhaustion is carved into every line on her face. “I am pleading to you,” she bites out, before her face falls flat, eyes fluttering shut. “Please,” she whispers. “Kosch-”</p><p>“Shut your mouth,” the Master returns casually, eyes flashing. “You don’t get to say that, not anymore. Just shut your mouth.”</p><p>Her fingers seize in a half-aborted motion to reach for him, but the heavy static of her containment cell holds her back. </p><p>“I’m leaving, now,” he declares languidly. “I’ve had enough of you, <em>Doctor.</em> Your fear, your <em>terror-</em> none of it interests me any longer. None of it can keep me here any longer. You’re- you’re old.” </p><p>He laughs with delight, as if the last bit of his sentence has surprised even himself. “Boring. So, so <em>dull. </em>So <em>repetitive.</em> Master, <em>please. </em>Master, <em>remember our ‘golden’ days?</em> Master, this, Master, that, Master, Master, Master. Honestly. Maybe staying in here for a while will give you the chance to think of something <em>new, </em>before you are undone<em>.</em> One can only hope,” he scoffs, tone derisive. “But do you know what I <em>am</em> interested in seeing right now? Right after I leave this little - ah- staycation of yours?”</p><p>The Doctor’s eyes follow his, dark with emotion. </p><p>“I am going to go watch the remaining, <em>living</em> memories of you burn, the same way I watched Gallifrey burn,” he says. “I am going to go watch as your most trusted, loyal, <em>disgusting, pathetic, imbecile </em>‘friends’- I am going to go watch them <em>execute </em>you, before I travel alone to undo you. Your other self- Designation 5.5 is her name- I told her that I am going to take her with me, to let her come with me when I go find that child under those purple skies. But that would be foolish. I <em>lied.</em> I am not going to keep you with me as I undo you, oh no. You are prone to far too much sentiment. Instead, I am going to watch you fall at the hands of what you have thought keeps you safe from the pitfalls of long travel- and I am going to <em>encourage </em>them to end you, and then I will sit back, and I will <em>watch. </em>Maybe I’ll bring a snack- wouldn’t want to miss out on a proper cinematic experience. Killing you three times over!” He laughs brightly, voice singsong. “Ridding the galaxy of you three seperate times! Have you ever seen such a beautiful night- this is what dreams are made of!” </p><p>He makes his way over to the door before he turns back to look at her once more. “Don’t wait up. Oh- wait- you won’t be able to. You’ll be- well, I hate to say this so bluntly,” his expression morphs to one of sympathy, eyes wide and mouth turned into a frown, “dead. Twice over. Three, if you die of heartbreak locked up in here. Or starvation, or anything else. My fingers are, of course, crossed!” His face brightens, but his eyes stay dark and full of rage. “Ta.” </p><p>He spins away from her then and walks out of the room, footsteps falling further and further away from her until she can no longer hear them. </p><p>Only when she is certain he is gone does she let out the sob that has been held in the cave of her ribs. Only when he is no longer there does she let her knees give out, and there she sits, suspended in midair, breath coming heavy in between awful, choking gasps.</p>
<hr/><p>When the Master reenters the Tardis, there is something very, very off. He is manic as he veers away from them and their game of rummy (they are using half a set of cards that they found underneath the couch.) His eyes are glittering as he runs down the hallway, and it is only moments later that they hear the Tardis groan back to life, the Master now evidently sequestered in the console room that they have tried and failed to find. </p><p>“Where do you think we’re headed now?” asks Ryan, voice tired, and Yaz knows that they all are feeling a sense of loss as they go spinning through space, a loss that they do not want to name. </p><p>They had all hoped the Doctor would find them, and the fact that she had not was almost a sign, a sign that they were very much on their own, completely alone, and truly, <em>completely</em> at the mercy of the Master.</p><p>Minutes later they land with a thud, and the Master reappears, eyes bright with emotion. It almost- no, it couldn’t be- it almost looks like <em>fear.</em></p><p>“Out,” he demands. “Out quickly. I don’t- I don’t know what happened.”</p><p>“Oh god, what happened,” Graham says. </p><p>“You know it’s bad if he’s worried,” Ryan agrees, laughing nervously as the Master paces the living room desperately, looking at them with wide, desperate eyes. </p><p>“I don’t know how it happened. I went back to the room- the room with Designation 5.5. I wanted to watch her, to reconcile my childhood with the truth of the Time Lords, in person- closure, you must understand, nothing more- and- it must have been some strange new technology-” he gasps. “She escaped.”</p><p>“What?” Ryan exclaimed, at the same time as Ryan and Graham. </p><p>“I can only be thankful she didn’t spare much time on me,” the Master gasps. “I managed to get a trace on her Tardis before she left, and I’ve followed it, but I have an awful feeling that she’s about to kill - all of Gallifrey. Again. In the past, before it ever even happened first. She’s a murderer. She’s going to wipe them all out.” </p><p>“She has a Tardis, too?!” Graham exclaimed, bewildered.</p><p>“I’ve never seen him this worked up,” Ryan mutters as they watch the Master pace circles around the living area, muttering frantically to himself. “Either he’s playing us like fiddles, or we need to go stop her. The - Designation 5.5.” The muscles in his shoulders tighten, posture straighten. “Yaz. You were right. If she’s going to-” he falters, turning to the Master. “You said you knew where she was? We need a plan.” </p>
<hr/><p>They emerge several minutes later from the Master’s Tardis onto a wide, grassy plain, but the grass is not green like it is on Earth, and Yasmin’s breath is suddenly stolen from her lungs, because- </p><p>Gallifrey is beautiful, beautiful like nothing she has ever seen before. Across the hills on which they have landed lies a city in a large dome, and it glimmers under two suns, illuminated from all sides by endless red and gold grass, reflecting light and swaying under the sun like a herd of bison galloping underneath a thick, grassy blanket. She is left speechless for several long moments. </p><p>And then she sees <em>her </em>again. The Designation. She is not facing them, but her posture is tense. She, too, is overlooking Gallifrey, and when she turns around, she does not seem surprised to see the Master. </p><p>“This will <em>burn,</em>” she spits angrily, and the tone of her voice is a stark contrast against the eery emotionless voids that are her eyes and mouth. “I, too, have killed-will kill,- this city. It will burn and die and <em>wither </em>by my hand. And I will do it for my own sense of <em>justice.</em>” She shakes her head, gritting her teeth.</p><p>The Master’s eyes are calculating. He shifts. </p><p>“We won’t let you burn Gallifrey.” Ryan calls out bravely.</p><p>The woman’s awful eyes turn to him and harden. “Who have you brought with you,” she asks the Master, then, “Oh, you <em>will</em> let me. I have seen it already. I have seen- I have seen most of it. No one will stop me,” she says. “No one ever does.” </p><p>“We can’t let you do this!” Yasmin interrupts, and Designation 5.5 turns to her, fixes her with a cold, emotionless look, and spins on her heel towards the silvery box that is under a nearby tree. “If you need me,” she says to the Master, “I’ll be doing what needs to be done. For <em>myself, </em>one last act of penitence before I undo all of history. I’ll see you in a moment, but you had best not follow. Too many temporal contingencies if you’re in such close proximity to yourself.” </p><p>Without any further ado, she steps into the box, and before they have a chance to run after her, it fades in the familiar manner of a Tardis. </p><p>Ryan, Yasmin and Graham turn towards the Master, dismay on their faces. “Where is she going,” Yasmin asks, voice deadly serious. “We need to get back in your Tardis and follow her, now, if we have a chance of saving Gallifrey.” </p><p>“I think,” the Master says, voice shuddering, “I think she’s going to go to the main city and cause a paradox. She’s going to kill everyone on Gallifrey, but she’s going to try and find the version of me on Gallifrey right now - whatever version that might be, and kill him first. Which will, of course, kill me now, as he would be a past version of myself.” </p><p>“Time travel is bloody confusing,” declares Ryan. “<em>No one </em>is going to die. Not if we have any say in it.” </p><p>Yasmin and Graham both nod firmly in agreement. “Take us down to the main city,” </p><p>The Master takes a deep, shaky breath before nodding, but suddenly his expression grows desperate, and he shoves a hand into one of his pockets, fumbling a moment before pulling his hand out, clenched around an all-too familiar object. </p><p>He approaches Yasmin, and swallows. Yasmin cannot breathe. “Yasmin Khan,” he breathes. “I need you to take this. I’ll follow, I swear- I’ll follow as closely as I can- but she’s right. I can’t get-” he runs a hand through his hair, a strangely human motion, strangely vulnerable- “I can’t get too close to my past self. Please. I have to- I don’t want to, trust me,- but I <em>have to</em> trust you.” </p><p>He extends his hand, and Yasmin slowly holds out hers. </p><p>No one breathes as he drops the tissue compression eliminator into her hand. Yaz purses her lips, overwhelmed by the seriousness of his expression, and nods determinedly.</p><p>“No one will die on my watch,” she says. “Let’s go, fam.” </p><p>Ryan grins, and Graham rolls his eyes. </p><p>They pile into the Tardis, and for once, they follow the Master down a hallway in the back of his house to a strange looking closet, which he places his hand against ever so softly before opening it to reveal a huge console room, bigger than even the Doctor’s. </p><p>There is no time for wonder, but Yaz does eye the ornate metalwork with appreciation before she turns to the others. “Let’s go.” She turns to leave before calling back to the Master. “We’ll be by the door. Follow when and if you can.” </p><p>“I’ll be right behind you,” the Master calls back firmly, and Yaz nods decisively before the three of them are off. </p><p>As soon as they land they are running out the door, and Graham lets out a cuss as they realize that despite how perfect the domed utopia of Gallifrey had looked from afar, it is raining furiously inside of the dome, thick sheets of stinging rain stabbing their way through the fabric of Yasmin’s dirty t-shirt and onto her tender, dirty skin. </p><p>But there is no time to waste on pain- they need to find Designation 5.5, and fast. Yasmin grips the tissue eliminator tightly, and takes a deep breath. </p><p>“Alright. I’ll-”</p><p>“Halt in the name of Rassilon!” A booming voice carries through the rain, and Yasmin’s breath catches in her throat, the Master’s earlier warning coming back to her in full force now, clanging alarm bells like heartbeats through her skull. </p><p>
  <em>‘And do try, at least, not to be too conspicuous- humans aren’t quite allowed on Gallifrey, and it would bring our blossoming friendship to a very sudden halt if you were all to be killed horribly in front of me.’</em>
</p><p>Judging by the looks on both Ryan and Graham’s faces, they too are also very aware of their suddenly precarious position. </p><p>“Is the Master here yet,” Ryan hisses, “what’s taking him so long.”</p><p>Yasmin lets out a half-sob as the voice comes closer to them, until finally the sheets of relentless rain lose their opaque nature and reveal a tall man with sharp features, clad in intricate robes and with a very large, very menacing looking gun in one hand. </p><p>When he sees them, his face turns from terror to anger to hatred in a matter of seconds. </p><p>“Intruders,” he hisses, eyes narrowing, and then, “<em>Intruders!</em>” He falters as he looks closer at them, disgust melding into his visage as he takes them in. </p><p>“By Rassilon,” he murmurs. “You’re- you’re human.” He glances at his weapon. “That is-well.” He puffs up a bit. “Very illegal.”</p><p>“Look,” Ryan starts, advancing forwards placatingly. “We are here to help you, help Gallifrey. We-”</p><p>Moving forwards was apparently the wrong thing to do, because in the blink of an eye, the man has moved his weapon, aimed, and shot. </p><p>Ryan drops to the ground, and Yasmin lets out a cry and rushes forwards, Graham next to her. Everything feels suddenly numb as she kneels over Ryan and watches as blood blossoms on his shirt. There is a long moment of nothing, and then he sucks in a breath. Yaz almost sobs in relief, and Graham lets out a soft cry, “Ryan,” he whispers, “Son, <em>please.”</em></p><p>Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the man cock his weapon again, and before she can even register what is about to happen, there is a loud bang, and the man drops like stone.</p><p>Behind him, gun in hand, is Designation 5.5, eyes hard and cold. </p><p>“Stop,” Yasmin pleads, coughing on rainwater as she tries to tilt her head up to see Designation 5.5, to look her in the eyes before looking back down at Ryan and trying to cover him as best she can, shield him with her own body. “Please, he’s already hurt, don’t-”</p><p>There is something like a roar, and then the Master is there, and he tackles Designation 5.5 to the ground, over the side of the cobblestone and into the grass field to the side of the street, sloshing about in the mud. Their conversation is muffled by the roar of the rain, but they are suddenly <em>screaming</em> at eachother<em>.</em></p><p>“<em>What </em>are you doing?” Yaz hears Designation 5.5 ask, outrage in her voice, and Yaz, satisfied that at least for a moment, she is handled, turns back to Ryan. Ryan, who is trying to sit up, clutching his stomach with one hand and trying to balance on Graham enough to stand with the other. </p><p>“Ryan, no,” she exclaims softly. “You’re hurt. Don’t try to move.” </p><p>“Have to- save Gallifrey, Yaz,” he replies. “Doctor’s <em>home.”</em></p><p>“What about <em>my</em> home?” Yasmin asks, tears dripping down her face mingling with rain so thick she can hardly see. “I need you. I need <em>both </em>of you. You are my home, as good as it gets, and you <em>can’t </em>leave me.” </p><p>“Not goin’ anywhere,” Ryan tells her stubbornly, and with that he hoists himself to his feet, using Graham as a cornerstone. Yaz takes a deep breath, wiping furiously at her face. </p><p>“Now you go get that woman, Yaz,” Graham tells her, eyes serious. “You’re brilliant, you are. Ryan and I will follow. We’ll be fine.” </p><p>When she hesitates, Ryan smiles at her, encouraging. “<em>Go.</em>” </p><p>That is all it takes. She is off like a shot, following the shouting of the Master, following their voices like beacons through the rain. </p><p>She finally finds them, tussling in the grass, and with great effort, the Master yanks himself away from the arms of Designation 5.5, stumbling up and backwards next to Yasmin. </p><p>“You want me dead,” Designation 5.5 spits. Her mouth is bloody, every word she says enunciated with a spill of blood over her lips. Her hair is plastered to her face, undone from its plait, and her red robes are muddy and bedraggled,  “You have, ever since you’ve discovered me. You’ve been playing the long-con, the double-play. The <em>triple-play. </em>Never showing,” she coughs, and blood stains the golden grass before it is washed away just as quickly by the torrential downpour around them, “never showing all your cards to all sides. Playing your own game, this whole time, just to see me below you.”</p><p>“I’ve always wanted you dead,” spits the Master, “all my life.” </p><p>“You’re lying,” says Designation 5.5, and she <em>smiles, </em>jagged and full of blood and bloody teeth. “Oh, <em>Master. </em>I may not always remember my own history, but I <em>know </em>you.”</p><p>“SHUT UP!” roars the Master. He spins to Yasmin, and his eyes are feral. “You know what you have to do,” he cries, and his voice is as close to desperation as it has ever been as long as they have known him. </p><p>To her left, she sees Ryan and Graham stumble forwards together. She looks down, looks long and hard at the woman on the grass, at the animalistic fury and searing hatred in the Master’s eyes, at the bloodsoaked smile of Designation 5.5 and the hand Ryan is holding tight to his stomach. </p><p>There is something holding her back. </p><p>She looks again to Ryan, whose face, even through pain, is grim with resigned determination. “I don’t want this anymore than you do,” he tells her in a broken whisper as he comes closer, but it sounds too much like encouragement to be reassuring. Graham nudges her, his face open and full of empathy, and Yasmin looks down to the bloody face of Designation 5.5, frozen in place on the ground, eyes wide and hard and, more than anything else, resigned. </p><p>“You heard the people. She’ll kill all of Gallifrey if you let her go right now- including you and your self-designated family, Yasmin Khan.” The Master is next to her, whispering in her ear so quietly. He sounds empathetic, <em>perhaps </em>excited, but Yaz istoo preoccupied to notice. Almost. “Do what you know you need to do, Yasmin Khan.”</p><p>“What would the Doctor do,” Yasmin whispers to herself. “What would the Doctor do. What would the Doctor do.” Over and over again, a mantra, a half-sob. Her hand shakes as she pulls the tissue compression eliminator out of her pocket, fingers twisting around it, shivering so badly that she almost drops it. The rain is pounding on them, now, and on the ground, Designation 5.5 seems to gasp for breath through the water, her mouth moving soundlessly, eyes half shut and dark hair plastered to her face. Yasmin cannot tell if she is crying or if she is choking. She cannot even see a meter in front of her, much less read the woman’s lips. </p><p>“What are you saying,” Yasmin cries as she levels the device at the woman’s face, her hand shivering from the cold and from the rain, sweater dangling off of her arm in a heavy wet deadweight. </p><p>“<em>No last words!”</em> the Master snarls. “She is a <em>specialist! She is a master manipulator! </em>DO IT!” His voice is desperate now, an anger lacing each of his words as he bites them off. </p><p>Yasmin cannot hear herself breathing, but she is intimately aware of her chest heaving she inches forwards, using both hands to hold the tissue eliminator steady as she draws nearer to the Designation. </p><p>“DO IT!” the Master barks, screams. “SHE’LL KILL US ALL!”</p><p>“Please,” the woman whispers, so softly that Yaz is not sure that she has heard anything at all. “Please. You’re my-” louder this time, but cut off.</p><p>The Master screams, a gutteral, animalistic thing. His eyes are wild, and he shakes his neck fiercely, thick tendrils of hair spraying out rain around him. He looks like he could be crying, but it blends too well with the rain to truly tell. </p><p>Designation 5.5 reaches out a pale, pale hand- too pale, the fault of blood-loss no doubt, and Yasmin flinches back, raising the tissue eliminator in what would be a threatening manner, were her arms steady. “Don’t touch me, <em>murderer.”</em></p><p>“Yaz, come on,” Ryan urges, voice pained and distant. She can tell that he is becoming dizzy from blood loss, his face is drawn and pallid. If he does not get medical attention soon, Yaz is not sure he will make it. He is leaning heavily on Graham, who is staring <em>through her, </em>eyes screaming at her to bring an end to all of this. His eyes are begging her. His eyes are too pleading for Yaz to stomach, and yet-</p><p>She rips her eyes away from them with an excruciating amount of effort and turns back to the woman.</p><p>Designation 5.5 blinks, hard, several times, a bloody half moon of a smile flashing across her face before her entire face crumples, and the hand reaching towards Yaz is shaking just as badly as Yaz’s own. It is like nothing besides the two of them exists, like they are in a bubble. The sharp slicing of the rain on bare, raw skin becomes a distant sting, the sound of the rain a dull roar next to the sound of Yaz’s heartbeat in her ears. When Designation 5.5 speaks again, it is so silent as to be a mere mouthing of words, and yet Yaz hears her so quickly it is like they are alone in a silent room, their faces inches from each other. </p><p>“Please,” she repeats. “You’re my fam,” she whispers to the ground, her hand dropping, her mouth trying and failing to wobble into a smile, eyes large and horribly pained before they blink closed in acceptance.  </p><p>The world stops completely. Yaz cannot breath at all. The dull roar of the rain becomes louder and louder and louder until the world is cast sharply into excruciating relief once again, the absence of anything besides the two of them for that one moment suddenly increasing the vivacity of every feeling now. She falls backwards, breath escaping her in one choking gasp, horror spiking through her, elbows hitting wet mud as she scrambles backwards. </p><p>“No, no, <em>no,</em>” she says, and it is all too much, too much, as the world breaks apart into a million slivers of pieces and falls into place again much too quickly- suddenly, everything makes terrible, awful, horrible <em>sense.</em></p><p>“You’re the <em>child,</em>” she chokes out, “you’re <em>her.</em>”</p><p>“Yaz?” Ryan says, uncertainty coloring his voice, “what’re you-” he cuts off, coughing, gasping for breath. Graham groans, a questioning sort of moan that leaves Yaz with a vague sense of horror, but she cannot- she cannot think-</p><p>“<em>NO!</em>” yells the Master, an awful scream leaving his lips. “You <em>cannot have-</em>” he launches himself the Designation -no, the Doctor--no, the child, the woman who would <em>be </em>her Doctor-- with terrible force. </p><p>The world will not stop spinning, and the rain is sluicing down her face in rivulets so thick that she cannot see, but everything is slow, so slow, as her fingers scramble in the mud for the tissue eliminator, as she fumbles with it, thick fingers finding the right buttons in slow motion, arm <em>achingly</em> steady as she raises it towards him. He is halfway through raising his hand to strike Designation 5.5 down when Yasmin levels it at his face, and there is a split second of dawning horror and realization that makes its way across his face, followed by a burning, hateful acceptance, before she clicks the button.</p><p>The Master disappears. Yaz cannot see him through the rain, but she knows that somewhere in the grass and thick mud, there is a figure of a man in a purple waistcoat sinking, sinking, sinking down into the pools of rainwater. </p><p>She cannot feel anything. She crawls, crawls on hands and knees, the tissue eliminator dragged from her uncaring grip by the slick mud- each movement sending the sharp aches of freshly bruised pain through her- crawls towards Designation 5.5, who has collapsed fully onto the ground, her hair spilling through the mud like a dirty halo. Her dark eyes follow Yaz’s as she grows nearer, eyes wary and accepting. Yaz swipes the back of her dirty hand at her eyes to clear them of rainwater, and then with the same hand reaches out to Designation 5.5, fingers trembling inches away from the woman’s face. </p><p>Designation 5.5’s eyes fall closed, her face knotting up in something between fear and resignation. Yaz’s fingers come down, so, <em>so </em>softly, tenderly, on her face, and she does not care that her feather-light touch leaves streaks of mud, like war-paint, across the woman’s browbone down to her cheekbone in a smooth, soft stroke. </p><p>“Doctor,” she murmurs, voice cracking. “I’m-” </p><p>She is suddenly so tired.</p><p>The world goes black. </p>
<hr/><p>When Yaz awakens, she awakens to the slow hum of machinery. A long moment passes where she remembers nothing at all; and then with a jolt, she sits up frantically and looks around herself in desperation. Her eyes fall on Ryan and Graham, both bandaged and asleep on cots next to her, and she sinks back onto her own cot in relief, before wincing and reaching for her leg. It is bandaged as well, her jeans cut off above the knee, but it seems like it has been cleaned, and her hair is no longer hanging wet in her face. She is warm, and dry. And she is alive- and so are Graham and Ryan, chests moving softly up and down in the icy blue lighting. She squints after the sound, and with a grunt pulls herself to her feet. </p><p>The cots are on the floor of a room that looks almost eerily similar to the Doctor- <em>her </em>Doctor’s- console room, if it were stripped of all warm color and made generic. She lays a hand against the wall and feels the hum of this Tardis, before her eye catches on the sleeping figure slumped on the ground on the other side of the console. Distant wariness becomes stronger, emotion slamming a sudden fist into her chest. Where is Designation 5.5? Who is that strange figure wearing what looks like her clothes?
With a gasp, the figure suddenly blinks awake and staggers to their feet in one swift motion, turning to stare at Yasmin with wide eyes. He is older, with short, cropped hair and lines through his face. His eyes are very old and almost distantly contented, and when they land on Yasmin’s face, they widen before the edges of a faint smile tug on his mouth. </p><p>“You’re awake,” he says. Yaz backs up warily, exhaustion suddenly weighing heavily on her. She cannot fight anymore, she cannot be alert anymore. If this man has kidnapped them, she will not be able to fight through it again. Not any longer. She is so, so weary.</p><p>“I’ve changed again,” says the man, “but it’s me. Yasmin. I am Designation 5.5. I’ve simply regenerated again. You’re safe. Your friends are safe.” He hesitates. </p><p>Yasmin feels relief rush through her with such intensity she grows dizzy, and before she is fully aware of what she is doing, she falls forwards into Designation 5.5’s arms. Of course. He has changed his face, the same way the Doctor always talked about doing. “You died?” she mutters a moment later as she realizes what it means, regret singing the edges of her relief red-hot. His arms slowly wrap around her, and she feels a sigh rush through his chest.</p><p>“I tend to do it a lot, unfortunately,” Designation 5.5 says. “Hazard of the job. Nothing to worry about, really. Done it before.” </p><p>Yasmin blinks back tears against his shoulder. “You can’t go back to Gallifrey,” she murmurs. “You can’t continue doing this. Dying. It’s a big deal, even if it’s normal for you. You deserve better.”</p><p>“It’s not that simple, I’m afraid,” Designation 5.5 tells her, before leaning back, eyes warm as he looks at Yaz. “I’ve seen a future worth protecting, Yasmin, and I can't walk away knowing that if I do so, I walk away from everything <em>good </em>that has yet to come.”</p><p>He looks at her for a long moment. </p><p>“The Master told you I planned to destroy Gallifrey. I did not. Your Doctor was not lying when she told you that he burned it down. I was planning to divert his course, to find him and stop him from destroying my planet.” He sighs. “Then he wished to take me to the very beginning of my life, the moment where I was found by my adopted mother, and stop Gallifrey from ever existing by...removing me from the equation. I was close to agreeing, but it was the flashes of your Doctor’s memories through my head that made me take pause. You make such a difference in the world together - I cannot walk away from a future you have made so bright for me.” He swallows. “I will return to Gallifrey, and this will have been my last assignment. The chances that they have not heard of these troubles here are slim.”</p><p>“They’ll - what will they do to you?” Yasmin asks. Her voice cracks down the middle, but she is far too worried and weary to be ashamed. </p><p>“Early retirement,” he answers lightly, but his eyes grow sorrowful when she flinches. “Not death, Yasmin. They can’t kill me. I am of too much use to them. But they are tired of my constant flouting of the rules, of that much I am certain. They will most likely have me make a completely falsified report on what happened, and then they will make a great pomp and show of my grand retirement, and after that they will wipe my memories with so much force that I won’t ever be able to remember anything at all about this part of myself, ever again. I will be a blank slate, and they will kill me before taking me to the main city and pretending I am just another normal child. Shame, too. They were talking about a rather big assignment coming up soon, and I was touted as the only fellow for the job. Something about Daleks, I heard, but it’s no use now. I refuse to serve them ever again, and they refuse to use me. So I will...retire.” </p><p>“Is that what happened?” Yasmin asks, softly, eyes stinging with tears, afraid to speak. “To her? To my Doctor? Has she gone through-” she breaks off, the idea too awful to bear.</p><p>Designation 5.5’s eyes shadow, and he glances away from her, pursing his lips. “Yes.” </p><p>Yasmin lets out a muffled cry before reaching out to grab his hand. </p><p>“That’s horrible,” she whispers, and her eyes fill with tears. She blinks and they spill over her lids and down her cheeks. “You shouldn’t- you don’t deserve that. All your life, you’ve only been trying to help, and my Doctor- she doesn’t even know. It hurts her, I know it must, to not know her past. But if she knew you- you deserve to be known as good.”</p><p>Designation 5.5 squeezes her hand. “I am far from perfect, Yasmin Khan,” he rebuts, but his tone is far from rebuking. His eyes are tired and sad and soft.</p><p> “Tell her, then,” he says after searching Yasmin’s eyes. “Tell her everything. And tell her-” he pauses, searching for words. “Tell her that I look forwards with all my hearts to the day when the Doctor will be me. I will forget every word of this, but my future is written in my hearts, Yasmin.” He squeezes her hand one last time and then drops it, and Yaz chokes on a broken breath. “For now, Yasmin, I need to get you and your friends to your Doctor. I know where she is; you, it appears, were not the only ones captured by the Master. You’ve been seperated from each other far too long.” </p><p>Yasmin purses her lips tightly, trying desperately to prevent further sobs from escaping her chest. Home. She gets to go <em>home. </em>This is all over. </p><p>They look at each other for a long moment, and finally Designation 5.5 nods at her before moving to the console and gently sliding levers into place. The Tardis gives slightly as he cranks one last gear, and then they are whirring through time and space again, locked onto the Doctor. Heading home. </p><p>When they land with a soft thump, Yasmin leaves Designation 5.5’s side and rushes over to Graham and Ryan, whispering to them gently. “We’re back,” she says, and her voice is thick with emotion. “You can sleep more soon, but right now we are going- we’re finally free. We’re going back to the Doctor.”</p><p>Ryan stirs first, and when his eyes focus, they sharpen, and he immediately sits up to hug her. Startled, Yasmin hugs him back, softly at first but then squeezing. It is comfort, it is reassurance.</p><p><em>They are alright.</em> </p><p>He pulls back a minute later, turning to Graham, who blinks awake with confused eyes that turn relieved when he sees the both of them. </p><p>“Oh thank god,” he mutters, voice breaking. “You’re both safe.” “Thought I lost you there. Couldn’t -” he stops, giving them a shaky smile. There is a perfect, golden moment where they revel in the feeling of being safe and together, and then Ryan visibly steels himself. “Where are we, then?” he asks. </p><p>“Designation 5.5-” starts Yaz, gesturing towards where he has moved to the other side of the console to give them some semblance of privacy. </p><p>“Oh my god, I’ve just now remembered,” Ryan breathes. “Designation 5.5- she’s the Doctor. The past Doctor. All that time. I saw it when you did, really. Moments after. The look on your face- the look on her face. It all makes so much sense now,” his face shifts. “And we almost- we wanted to kill her. The Master made us-” his face draws into something serious. “He made us think she was the villain- both her then and her now,” Graham said softly. “What sort of friends-”</p><p>“Great ones,” says Designation 5.5, from where he has rounded the console to stand by them, voice gentle. </p><p>“Who’s-!”</p><p>“Ryan, Graham- this is Designation 5.5. Re-uh-regenerated? Is that the word? She died, protecting us and bringing us to safety- and then changed.”</p><p>“You died?” Ryan asked, horrified. Designation 5.5 rolled his eyes. “I’ve already been over this with Yasmin,” he said, but his voice was fond. “The Master may not be the greatest fellow, but he packs a punch, and I had a nice collection of internal injuries.” He grimaces as he surveys their horrified faces. “Actually- dwell on it later. Or never. Never’s fine. For right now- up you get. Your bandages should be sturdy, and your wounds should be well-enough healed to get back to your Tardis, barring any <em>other </em>galaxy-altering events centered around you before you can get there. Fingers crossed you can avoid those,” he added sardonically, and the three companions exchanged baffled looks at his strange new personality. </p><p>They gather themselves up and head to the door of the Tardis. Designation 5.5 opens the door for them, and slowly Yaz, and Ryan walk out. Graham lingers a long moment, and at long last turns back to Designation 5.5.</p><p>“Thank you,” he says softly. “Thank you. For- them. For keepin’ us safe. Now and- in your future. You’re a good man, Designation 5.5. And a better friend.”
Designation 5.5 says nothing, but his eyes crinkle the slightest amount. He shakes Graham’s hand before gesturing at the door. “Here’s where I leave you, Graham,” he announces, voice tinged with something that was almost sadness. Then a smile quirks one side of his lips. “I’ll see you in a minute.” His eyes sharpen. </p><p>Graham looks into his eyes a long moment more before he takes a deep breath and nods, giving Designation 5.5 one last smile. “See you,” he returns, and steps out of the Tardis. The door closes, and he turns around to join Yaz and Ryan. </p><p>They are standing in a system of interlocking levels of grates, stretching up above and below them as far as the eye can see. It is achingly familiar, and Yasmin’s breath stutters in her throat. “This is-”</p><p>“This is where the Master brought us,” Ryan mutters in muffled horror. “This is where-”</p><p>Their feet quicken down the clanging grating until they are met with the all too-familiar red door. Yasmin reaches out to push it open with shaking fingers, and then they are in the central room. </p><p>Elevated above the table, eyes closed, looking to all the world like a sleeping angel, is the Doctor. Their Doctor. </p><p>“Doc,” cries Graham, and they run towards the table. Yasmin searches the side of the table with frantic fingers for the kill switch, and when her fingers find the switches she flicks them back, hoping-</p><p>The Doctor topples, and it is with great effort that Graham and Ryan manage to catch her as she falls over the edge of the circular dais. </p><p>“Is she-” Yasmin cries, but the Doctor’s eyes are snapping open, wide and so, so alive. </p><p>Recognition bleeds into them slowly. She turns her head, and disbelief wars with hope across her face.</p><p>“Fam?” she asks, and it’s a soft, broken thing. She stands up fully, legs wobbly, and catches herself on the edge of the table, looking at each of them in turn before reaching with wide eyes to her head, tussling a bit with her blond hair. “Am I dreaming?” she asks, a soft, distrustful thing that is full of pain. </p><p>“No,” Yaz assures her, blinking back tears and rounding the dais to join them. “We’ve got you, Doctor.” </p><p>The Doctor lets out a noise like a soft, gasping cry, and then they are tumbling together, arms intertwining around arms, heartbeats mingling. For several long minutes or hours, they stand together, and when they seperate, the Doctor is beaming, and if her eyes are a bit shiny when she scrunches up her face, no one mentions it, because they all look the same way. </p><p>“I thought you were-” she cuts off, and looks at them again for a long moment. “You’re brilliant. All of you. My fam.” She shakes her head in disbelief. “Let’s get you home.” </p><p>“With you,” Yaz says, and then louder when it comes out too soft. “With you, Doctor. You’re coming home with us, too.”</p><p>The Doctor turns to her with wide eyes. </p><p>“Yeah,” Ryan says. “If you think that after all of that we’re just going to walk away- which, I don’t even know what you think about anything anymore, honestly- you’re wrong. We’re sticking together, yeah? Got it?”</p><p>“Come have a cuppa with us, Doc,” Graham says softly, a genuine smile creasing his face. “We’re long past due.” </p><p>The Doctor winces a bit at that, but her grin is huge and beatific. “Graham, Yaz, Ryan,” she starts happily, “I would love that.” Then she spins around to another door. “Tardis is right through here. How do you lot feel about earl grey at Yaz’s?”</p><p>Yaz beams. “Sounds absolutely splendid, Doctor.”</p>
<hr/><p>Underneath the console, in tiny, glittering letters, are the scratched words ‘PROPERTY OF DESIGNATION 5.5, SERVANT OF THE PEOPLES.’ </p><p>Yasmin traces the letters with wondering fingers. </p><p>Moments later, the Doctor swings herself down next to Yasmin, looking at her a long moment before following her fingers up to the metallic letters. Her brow knots for a moment before her eyes widen, and with a muttered exclamation, she moves her fingers up to the letters as well, a look of bewilderment on her face. </p><p>“Maybe there <em>was</em> a reason I chose this particular Tardis,” she whispers in wonderment, eyes full of an unidentifiable emotion. There is a pause. “The Time Lords would have hated this,” she starts. “Destruction of their property? Very much like me.” She cuts off abruptly, a frown marring her face. “Yaz, I’m so sorry.” </p><p>Yaz shakes her head, pursing her lips and refusing to cry. It takes her a long moment to pull herself back together. “I almost killed you,” she whispers, and swallows when her voice betrays every single emotion she had been trying so hard to hide. </p><p>“We’ve already had this conversation. Hazard of the trade,” the Doctor disagrees pointedly. “You had no idea. Yaz, you’ve been <em>beyond </em>courageous. I am so, so proud of you. I could never ask for any more than what you’ve already done. You’ve amazed me, Yasmin, and you continue to do so, every day. Don’t you dare apologize.” She sighs, and her eyes betray for a long moment how old she really is.</p><p>“Do you remember? Us? Any of it?” Yasmin asks. </p><p>The Doctor gives her a half-smile. “No. Not a word. Seriously, nothing at all. It’s annoying, really, is what it is. What if I liked <em>pears?</em> If I liked pears, I would have to break the entirety of the space-time continuum just to have a strong word with myself.” She turns serious. “Thank you. For telling me about -myself. It matters, more than I thought it would. To know. But you know what? I’ll be alright with not knowing everything. The other day, I went out into a crowd on ah- honestly, I don’t remember the name of the planet- just to look. Stood in the middle of the crowd, and wondered if every single one of them might be me, and I don’t even know it. People, just going about their lives. All me. I wouldn’t know.” She gives a helpless shrug of one shoulder. “Thank you. For telling me what you know. I should have told you more about myself- before all of this. If I had been more honest with you-”</p><p>Yasmin chokes on something halfway between a sob and a laugh, and suddenly she is laughing so hard she cannot breathe anymore, great bursts of joy bursting from her chest. Without another word, she throws her arms around the Doctor, who lets out an oomph of surprise before her arms slowly rise up to cradle Yasmin, a soft sigh escaping her. “Yasmin Khan. What would the earth do without you,” she says fondly, and Yasmin laughs, tucking her head down and basking in the relief and safety of knowing and being known, of finally being <em>home.</em></p>
<hr/><p>“The Doctor,” muses Designation 5.5 as he pulls the lever down and sends his Tardis spinning back to Gallifrey to face the Time Lords. “Strange name to choose.” A small smile spreads out over his lips. “I do like it, though. Will have to remember that one.” </p><p>END</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>ps. this was Not beta read ... if anything seems particularly unclear let me know in the comments or something !<br/>I hope you enjoyed reading this-let me know!  I wrote it in a week I was so enamored with the idea. I would really love to hear from you :)<br/>special thanks to frankii &amp; regenderate.<br/>and thank you so much to everyone who was excited to read this. I love you all.<br/>find me on Tumblr at lifesitself :)<br/>(title of fic is partly from Warsan Shire's 'War Poem'- highly recommend)<br/>xx liv</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>